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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

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TAe  LIGHT    ^/SCARTHEY 


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r 

"CONSEQUENCES."  A  novel. 

"LA  BELLA"  and  othera.  Studies  of  character  and  action. 

"YOUNG  APRIL."  A  romance.  Illustrated. 

"LE  ROMAN  DU  PRINCE  OTHON."  A  rendering  in  French 
of  R.  L.  Stevenson's  Prince  Otto,  with  a  dedicatory  introduction. 

"THE  JERNINGHAM  LETTERS."  With  portraits,  sketches, 
notes,  tables  and  an  introduction. 

"SCHOOLS  AND  MASTERS  OF  FENCE."  A  history  of  the 
Art  of  Fence,  from  the  Middle  Ages,  to  the  end  of  the  Eighteenth 
Century.  Illustrated. 

"ENGLISH  BOOK-PLATES."  Ancient  and  modern.  Illus- 
trated. 

"BIBLIOTHECA  DIMICATORIA."  A  complete  Bibliography 
of  the  Art  of  Fence. 

"MARSHFIELD  THE  OBSERVER."  Further  studies  of  char- 
acter and  action.  [In  the  Press.  ] 

r 

Wiil  9lg:nc6  Castle. 

"THE  PRIDE  OF  JENNICO."   A  romance. 

"THE  BATH  COMEDY."  Illustrated.  Fin  the  Press.] 


I       LIGHT       I 

IscartheyI 

* ^ 

I  A    Romance  | 

^  Sy    Egerton     Castle  ^ 

^  Author  of  ^ 

I   "The  Pride  of  Jennico,"  "Young   | 

^  April,"   etc.  St^ 

* ^* 

^  3^ 

*i  "Take  whichsoever  way  thou  wilt — the  ways  are  all  alike;  ^ 

^  But  do  thou  only  come — I  bade  my  threshold  wait  thy  "* 

'*Sf  coming.  Sp' 

^  From  out  my  window  one  can  see  the  graves,  and  on  |&. 

h  "^^  '■'^^  ,  56- 

SZ        The  graves  keep  watch."  Luteplayer  s  Song.     "* 

«  ^  * 

*  f  s^ 
* * 

^   Frederick  A.  Stokes  Company  S&- 

*  1* 

it£  3£  JH^  ^f£  *(£  4(j^  ffj^  ^fj^  ^P^  ^{>  ^f£  £(j^  njc  xj(  xjt  xjt  au  ju  ka^  xjt  xx  jtjc  xjt 


Copyright,  1899, 

By  Frederick  A.  Stokes  Company, 

All  rights  reserved. 


FOURTH    EDITION. 


p=> 


H  DeMcate 

THIS    BOOK   TO   THE 
MEMORY   OF 

FREDERICK    ANDREWS    LARKING 

OF   THE    ROCKS,    EAST    MALLING,    KENT 

THAT,    SO    LONG   AS    ANYTHING    OF    MINE    SHALL   ENDURE, 

THERE    MAY    ENDURE   ALSO 

A   RECORD   OF   OUR   FRIENDSHIP   AND   OF 

MY    SORROW 


*>-<*  -''w  'O-  i^^  \^  JL. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  AMERICAN  EDITION. 


Among  the  works  of  every  writer  of  Fiction  there  are  gener- 
ally one  or  two  that  owe  their  being  to  some  haunting  thought, 
long  communed  with — a  thought  which  has  at  last  found  a 
living  shape  in  some  story  of  deed  and  passion. 

I  say  one  or  two  advisedly :  for  the  span  of  man's  active 
life  is  short  and  such  haunting  fancies  are,  of  their  essence, 
solitary.  As  a  ^natter  of  fact,  indeed,  the  majority  of  a 
novelist's  creations  belong  to  another  class,  must  of  necessity 
(if  he  be  a  prolific  creator)  find  their  conception  in  more 
sudden  impulses.  The  great  family  of  the  "  children  of  his 
brain  "  must  be  born  of  inspirations  ever  new,  and  in  allur- 
ing freshness  go  forth  into  the  world  surrounded  by  the 
atmosphere  of  their  author's  present  mood,  decked  in  the 
colours  of  his  latest  imaginings,  strengthened  by  his  latest 
passional  impressions  and  philosophical  conclusions. 

In  the  latter  category  the  lack  of  long  intimate  acquaintance 
between  the  author  and  the  friends  or  foes  he  depicts,  is  amply 
compensated  for  by  the  enthusiasm  appertaining  to  new  dis- 
coveries, as  each  character  reveals  itself,  often  in  quite  un- 
foreseen manner,  and  the  consequences  of  each  event  shape 
themselves  inevitably  and  sometimes  indeed  almost  against 
his  will. 

Although  dissimilar  in  their  genesis,  both  kinds  of  stories 

can,  in  the  telling,  be  equally  life-like  and  equally  alluring  to 

the  reader.     But  what  of  the  writer  ?     Among  his  literary 

'  family  is  there  not  one  nearer  his  heart  than  all  the  rest — 

vii 


viii    PREFACE  TO  THE  AMERICAN  EDITION 

his  dream-child  ?  It  may  be  the  stoutest  of  the  breed  or  it 
may  be  the  weakling  ;  it  may  be  the  first-borti,  it  often  is  the 
Benjamin.  Fathers  in  the  flesh  know  this  secret  tenderness. 
Many  a  child  and  many  a  book  is  brooded  over  with  a  special 
lave  even  before  its  birth. — Laved  thus,  for  no  grace  or  merit 
of  its  own,  this  book  is  my  dream-child. 


Here,  by  the  way,  I  should  like  to  say  my  word  in  honour  of 
Fiction — "fiction''  contradistinguished  from  what  is  popu- 
larly termed  "  serious"  writing. 

If,  in  a  story,  the  characters  and  the  events  are  truly  con- 
vincing; if  the  former  arc  appealingly  human  and  the  latter 
are  so  carefully  devised  and  described  as  ?iever  to  evoke  the 
idea  of  improbability,  then  it  can  make  no  difference  in  the 
intellectual  pleasure  of  the  reader  whether  what  he  is  made 
to  realise  so  vividly  is  a  record  of  fact  or  of  mere  faiuy. 
Facts  we  read  of  are  of  necessity  past:  what  is  past,  what 
is  beyond  the  immediate  ken  of  our  senses,  can  only  be  real- 
ised in  imagination ;  and  the  picture  we  are  able  to  make  of 
it  for  ourselves  depends  altogether  on  the  sympathetic  skill  of 
the  recorder.  Is  7iot  Diana  Vernon,  born  and  bred  in  Scott's 
imagination,  to  the  full  as  living  now  before  us  as  Rob  Roy 
Macgregor  whose  existetice  was  so  undeniably  tangible  to  the 
men  of  his  days  ?  Do  we  not  see,  in  our  mind's  eye,  and 
know  as  clearly  the  lovable ' '  girt  John  Ridd  ' '  of  Lorna  Doone 
the  romance  as  his  contemporaries,  Mr.  Samuel  Pepys  of  the 
hard  and  uncompromising  Diary  or  King  James  of  English 
Annals  ? 

Pictures,  alike  of  the  plainest  facts  or  of  the  veriest  imagin- 
ings, are  but  pictures:  it  matters  very  little  therefore  whether 
the  man  or  the  woman  we  read  of  but  never  can  see  in  the 
flesh  has  really  lived  or  not,  if  what  we  do  read  raises  an 
emotion  in  our  hearts.     To  the  novelist,  every  character,  each 


PREFACE  TO  THE  AMERICAN  EDITION     ix 

in  his  own  degree,  is  almost  as  living  as  a  personal  acquaint- 
ance; every  event  is  as  clear  as  a  personal  experience.  And 
if  this  he  true  of  the  story  written  a  la  grace  de  la  plume, 
where  both  events  and  characters  unfold  themselves  like  the 
huds  of  some  unknown  plant,  how  much  more  strongly  is  it 
the  case  of  the  story  that  has  so  long  been  mused  over  that 
one  day  it  had  to  be  told  I  Then  the  marking  events  of  the 
actors'  lives,  their  adventures,  whether  of  sorrow  or  of  joy, 
their  sayings  and  doings,  noble  or  bright  or  mistaken,  re- 
corded in  the  book,  are  but  a  tithe  of  the  adventures,  sayings 
and  doings  with  which  the  writer  seems  to  be  familiar.  He 
might  write  or  talk  about  them,  in  praise  or  vindictiveness 
as  he  loves  or  dreads  them,  for  many  a  longer  day — but  he 
has  one  main  theme  to  make  clear  to  his  hearers  and  must 
respect  the  modern  canons  of  the  Story-telling  Art.  Among 
the  many  things  therefore  he  could  tell,  an  he  would,  he 
selects  that  only  which  will  unravel  a  particular  thread  of 
fate  in  the  tangle  of  endless  consequences ;  which  will  render 
plausible  the  growth  of  passions  on  which,  in  a  continuous 
life-drama,  is  based  one  particular  episode. 

Of  such  a  kind  is  the  story  of  Adrian  Landale. 

The  haunting  thought  round  which  the  tale  of  the  sorely 
tempest-tossed  dreamer  is  gathered  is  one  which,  I  think, 
must  at  one  time  or  other  have  occurred  to  many  a  man 
as  he  neared  the  maturity  of  middle-life: — What  form  of 
turmoil  would  come  into  his  heart  if,  when  still  in  the 
strength  of  his  age  but  after  long  years  of  hopeless  separation, 
he  were  again  brought  face  to  face  with  the  woman  who  had 
been  the  one  passion  of  his  life,  the  first  and  only  love  of  his 
youth  ?  And  what  if  she  were  still  then  exactly  as  he  had 
last  seen  her — she,  untouched  by  years  even  as  she  had  so 
long  lived  in  his  thoughts :  he,  with  his  soul  scarred  and 
seamed  by  many  encounters  bravely  sustained  in  the  Battle 
af  Life  ? 


X       PREFACE  TO  THE  AMERICAN  EDITION 

The  problem  thus  propounded  is  not  solvable,  even  in  fic- 
tion, unless  it  be  by  "fantastic"  treatment.  But  perhaps 
the  more  so  on  this  account  did  it  haunt  me.  And  out  of 
the  travail  of  my  mind  around  it,  out  of  the  changing 
shadows  of  restless  speculation,  gradually  emerged,  clear 
and  alive,  the  being  of  Adrian  Landale  and  his  two 
loves. 

Here  then  was  a  man,  whose  mind,  moulded  by  7iaturefor 
grace  and  contemplation,  was  cast  by  fate  amid  all  the  tur- 
moils of  Romance  a7id  action.  Here  was  one  of  those  whose 
warm  heart  and  idealising  enthusiasm  must  wreathe  the  beauty 
of  love  into  all  the  beauties  of  the  world ;  whose  ideals  are 
spent  on  one  adored  object ;  who,  having  lost  it,  seems  to  have 
lost  the  very  sense  of  love  ;  to  whom  love  never  could  return, 
save  by  some  miracle.  But  fortune,  that  had  been  so  cruelly 
hard  on  him,  ojie  day  in  her  blind  way  brings  back  to  his  door 
the  miraculous  restitution — and  there  leaves  him  to  struggle 
along  the  fiewpath  of  his  fate!  It  is  there  also  that  I  take 
up  the  thread  of  the  speculation,  and  watch  through  its 
vicissitudes  the  working  of  the  problem  raised  by  such  a 
strange  circumstance. 

The  surrouftdings  in  a  story  of  this  kind  are,  of  the  na- 
ture of  tJrnigs,  all  those  of  Romance.  And  by  Romance,  / 
would  point  out,  is  not  necessarily  meant  in  tale-telling,  a 
chain  of  events  fraught  with  greater  improbability  than  those 
of  so-called  real  life.  (Indeed  where  is  now  the  writer  who 
will  for  a  moment  admit,  even  tacitly,  that  his  records  are 
not  of  reality  ? )  It  simply  betokens,  a  specialisation  of  the 
wider  genus  Novel ;  a  tiarrative  of  strong  action  and  mov- 
ing incident,  in  addition  to  the  necessary  analysis  of  character; 
a  story  in  which  the  uncertain  violence  of  the  outside  world 
turns  the  course  of  the  actors'  lives  from  the  more  obvious 
channels.  It  connotes  also,  as  a  rule,  more  poignant  emo- 
tions— emotiojis  born  of  strife  or  peril,  even  of  horror  ;  it  tells 


PREFACE  TO  THE  AMERICAN  EDITION     xi 

of  the  shock  of  arms  in  life,  rather  than  of  the  mere  diplo^ 
macy  of  life.  * 

Above  all  Romance  depends  upon  picturesque  and  varied 
setting;  upon  the  scenery  of  the  drama,  so  to  speak.  On 
the  other  hand  it  is  not  essentially  (though  this  has  some- 
times been  advanced)  a  narrative  of  mere  adventures  as  con- 
trasted to  the  observation  and  dissection  of  character  and 
manners  we  find  in  the  true  "novel."  Rather  be  it  said 
that  it  is  one  in  which  the  hidden  soul  is  made  patent  under 
the  touchstone  of  blood-stirring  incidents,  of  hairbreadth 
risks,  of  recklessness  or  fierceness.  There  are  soaring  pas- 
sions, secrets  of  the  innermost  heart,  that  can  only  be  set 
free  in  desperate  situations — and  those  situations  are  not 
found  in  the  tenor  in  every-day,  well-ordered  life:  they 
belong  to  Romance. 

Spirit-fathers  have  this  advantage  that  they  can  bring 

forth  their  dream-children  in  what  age  and  place  they  list: 

it  is  no  times  of  now-a-days,  no  ordinary  scenery,  that  zvould 

have  suited  such  adventures  as  befell  Adrian  Landale,  or 

Captain  Jack,  or  "  Murthering  Moll  the  Second." 

Romantic  enough  is  the  scene,  which,  in  a  manner, 
framed  the  display  of  a  most  human  drama  ;  and  fraught 
it  is,  even  to  this  day,  in  the  eyes  of  any  but  the  least 
imaginative,  with  potentialities  for  strange  happenings.* 
It  is  that  great  bight  of  Morecambe  ;  that  vast  of  brown  and 
white  shallows,  deserted,  silent,  mysterious,  and  treacherous 
with  its  dreaded  shifting  sands ;  fringed  in  the  inland  dis- 
tance by  the  Cumbrian  hills,  blue  and  misty  ;  bordered  out- 

*  Those  who  like  to  associate  fiction  with  definite  places  may  be  in- 
terested to  know  that  the  prototype  of  Scarthey  is  the  Piel  of  Foudrey, 
on  the  North  Lancashire  coast,  near  the  edge  of  Morecambe  Bay,  and  that 
Pulwick  was  suggested  by  Fiirncss  Abbey.  Barrow-in-Furness  was  then 
but  a  straggling  village.  A  floating  light,  facing  the  mouth  of  the  Wyre, 
now  fulfils  the  duties  devolving  on  the  beacon  of  Scarthey  at  the  time  of 
this  story. 


xii     PREFACE  TO  THE  AMERICAN  EDITION 

wards  by  the  Irish  sea,  cold  and  grey.  And  in  a  corner  of 
that  zoaste,  the  islet,  small  and  green  and  secure,  with  its 
ancient  Peel,  ruinous  even  as  the  noble  abbey  of  which  it  was 
once  the  dependant  stronghold;  with  its  still  sturdy  keep, 
and  the  beacon,  whose  light-keeper  was  once  a  Dreamer  of 
Beautiful  Things. 

And  romantic  the  times,  if  by  that  word  is  implied  a  freer 
scope  than  can  he  found  in  modern  years  for  elemental  pas- 
sions, for  fighting  and  loving  in  despite  of  every-day  conven- 
tions;  for  enterprise,  risks,  temptations  unknozvn  in  the 
atmosphere  of  humdrum  peace  aiid  order.  They  are  the 
early  days  of  the  century,  days  when  easy  and  rapid  jneans 
of  communication  had  not  yet  destroyed  all  the  glamour  of 
distafice,  when  a  county  like  Lancashire  was  as  a  far-off 
country,  with  a  spirit,  a  language,  customs  and  ideas  un- 
known to  the  Metropolis  ;  days  when,  if  there  were  no  life- 
boat crews,  there  could  still  be  found  rather  experiemed 
"wreckers,"  and  when  the  keeping  of  a  beacon,  to  light  a 
dangerous  piece  of  sea,  was  still  within  the  province  of  a  pub- 
lic-spirited latidlord.  They  are  the  days  when  the  spread  of 
education  had  tiot  even  yet  begun  (for  weal  or  for  zvoej  its 
levelling  work ;  days  of  cruel  monopolies  and  inane  prohibi- 
tions, and  ferocious  penal  laws,  inept  in  the  working,  baleful 
in  the  result ;  days  of  keel-hauling  and  flogging ;  when  the 
"free-trader"  still  swung,  tarred  and  in  chains,  on  con- 
spicuous points  of  the  coast — even  as  the  highwayman 
rattled  at  the  cross-road— for  the  encouragement  of  the 
brotherhood ;  when  it  was  naturally  considered  more  logical 
(since  hang  you  must  for  almost  any  misdeed)  to  hang  for 
a  sheep  than  a  lamb,  and  human  life  on  the  whole  was  held 
rather  cheap  in  consequence.  They  are  the  days  when  in 
Liverpool  the  privateers  were  daily  fitting  out  or  bringing  in 
the  "prices,"  and  when,  in  Lord  Street  Offices,  distant  car- 
goes of  "living  ebony  "  were  put  to  auction  by  steady,  in- 


PREFACE  TO  THE  AMERICAN  EDITION     xiii 

tensely  respectable.  Church-going  merchants.  But  especially 
they  are  the  days  of  war  and  the  fortunes  of  war ;  days 
of  pressgangs,  to  kidnap  unwilling  rulers  of  the  waves ;  of 
hulks  and  prisons  filled  to  overflowing,  even  in  a  mere  com- 
mercial port  like  Liverpool,  with  French  prisoners  of  war. 

A  long  course  of  relentless  hostilities,  lasting  the  span  of 
a  full-grown  generation,  had  cultivated  the  predatory  in- 
stinct of  all  men  with  the  temperament  of  action,  and  seemed 
to  justify  it.  Venturesome,  hot-spirited  youths,  with  their 
way  to  make  in  the  world  (who  hi  a  former  age  might  have 
been  reduced  to  "  the  road)"  took  up  privateering  on  a 
systematic  scale.  In  such  an  atmosphere  there  could  not  fail 
to  return  a  belief  in  the  good  old  border  rule,  "  the 
simple  plan :  that  they  should  take  who  have  the  power,  and 
they  should  keep  who  can."  And  it  must  be  remembered 
that  an  island  country's  border  is  the  enemy' s  coast !  On 
that  ethical  understanding  many  privateer  owners  built  up 
large  fortunes,  still  enjoyed  by  descendants  who  in  these  days 
would  look  upon  high-sea  looting  of  non-combatants  with 
definite  horror. 

The  years  of  the  great  French  war,  however,  fostered  a 
species  of  nautical  enterprise  more  vefituresome  even  than 
privateering,  raiding,  blockade-running  and  all  the  ordinary 
forms  of  smuggling  that  are  usual  when  two  coast  lines  are 
at  enmity.  I  mean  that  smuggling  of  gold  specie  and  bullion 
which  incidentally  was  destined  to  affect  the  course  of  Sir 
Adrian's  life  so  powerfully. 


As  Captain  Jack's  last  venture  may,  at  this  distance  of 
time,  appear  a  little  improbable,  it  is  well  to  state  here  some 
little-known  facts  concerning  the  ncm  rather  incomprehensible 
pursuit  of  gold  smuggling — a  romantic  subject  if  ever  there 
was  one. 


xiv    PREFACE  TO  THE  AMERICAN  EDITION 

77?^  existence  at  one  time  of  this  form  of  "free-trade  "  is 
all  but  forgotten.  Indeed  very  little  was  ever  heard  of  it  hi 
the  world,  except  among  parties  directly  iftterested,  even  at 
the  time  zvhen  it  played  an  important  part  hi  the  machinery 
of  goroernments.  Its  rise  duri?ig  the  years  of  Napoleonic 
tyranny  on  the  continent  of  Europe,  and  its  continuance  dur- 
ing the  factitious  calm  of  the  First  Restoration  in  Frame, 
were  due  to  circumstances  that  never  existed  before  and  are 
little  likely  to  occur  again. 

The  accumulation  of  a  fund  o/gold  coin,  reserved  against 
sudden  contingency,  was  one  of  Bonaparte's  imperial  ideas. 
In  a  modified  and  more  modern  form,  this  notion  of  a"  war- 
chest,"  untouched  and  unproductive  in  peace-time,  is  still 
adhered  to  by  the  Germans :  they  have  kept  to  heart  many  of 
their  former  conqueror's  lessons,  lessons  forgotten  by  the 
French  themselves — and  the  enormous  treasure  of  gold  bags 
guarded  at  Spandau  is  a  matter  of  cmnmon  knowledge. 
Napoleon,  however,  in  his  triumphant  days  never,  and  for 
obvious  reasons,  lacked  money.  It  was  less  an  actual  treasure 
that  he  required  and  valued  so  highly  for  political  and 
military  purposes,  than  an  ever  ready  reserve  of  wealth 
easily  portable,  of  paramount  value  at  all  times;  "con- 
centrated," so  to  speak.  And  nothing  could  come  nearer 
to  that  description  than  rolls  of  English  guineas.  Indeed 
the  vast  numbers  of  these  coins  which  fitfully  appeared 
in  circulation  throughout  Europe  justified  the  many  weird 
legends  concerning  the  power  of  "British  Gold" — I'or 
Anglais  ! 

There  is  every  reason  to  believe  that,  in  days  when  the 
national  currency  consisted  chiefly  of  lumbering  silver  ecus, 
the  Bourbon  government  also  appreciated  to  the  full  the  value 
of  a  private  gold  reserve.  At  any  rate  it  was  at  the  time  of 
the  first  Restoration  that  the  golden  guinea  of  England  found 
in  France  its  highest  premium. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  AMERICAN  EDITION     xv 

JVithout  going  into  the  vexed  and  dreary  question  of  single 
or  double  standard,  it  will  suffice  to  say  that  during  the 
early  years  of  the  century  now  about  to  close,  gold  coin  was 
leaving  England  at  a  rate  which  not  only  appeared  phenome- 
nal but  was  held  to  be  injurious  to  the  community. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  most  of  it  was  finding  its  way  to  France, 
whilst  Great  Britain  was  flooded  with  silver.  It  was  then 
made  illegal  to  export  gold  coin  or  bullion.  The  prohibition 
was  stringently,  indeed  at  one  time,  ruthlessly,  enforced.  In 
this  manner  the  new  and  highly  profitable  traffic  in  English 
guineas  entered  the  province  of  the  "free-trader"  ;  the  dif- 
erence  introduced  in  his  practice  being  merely  one  of  degree. 
IVhereas,  in  the  case  of  prohibited  imports,  the  chief  task 
lay  in  running  the  illicit  goods  and  distributing  them,  in  the 
case  of  guinea- smuggling  its  arduousness  was  further  in- 
creased by  the  danger  of  collecting  the  gold  inland  and  clear- 
ing from  home  harbours. 

Very  little,  as  I  said,  has  ever  been  heard  of  this  singular 
trade,  and  for  obvious  reasons.  In  the  first  place  it  obtained 
only  for  a  comparatively  small  number  of  years,  the  latter  part 
of  the  Great  War :  the  last  of  it  belonging  to  the  period  of 
the  Hundred  Days.  And  in  the  second  it  was,  at  all  times, 
of  necessity  confined  to  a  very  small  number  of  free-trading 
skippers.  Of  adventurous  men,  in  stirring  days,  there  were 
of  course  a  multitude.  But  few,  naturally,  were  the  men  to 
whose  honour  the  custody  of  so  much  ready  wealth  could 
safely  be  intrusted.  "  That  is  where,"  as  Captain  Jack 
says  sometimes  in  this  book,  "the  '  likes  of  me '  come  in." 

The  exchange  was  enormously  profitable.  As  much  as 
thirty-two  shillings  in  silver  value  could,  at  one  time,  be  ob- 
tained on  the  other  side  of  the  water  for  an  English  guinea. 
But  the  shipper  and  broker,  in  an  illegal  venture  where  con- 
tract could  not  be  enforced,  had  to  be  a  man  whose  simple 
word  was  warranty — a7id  indeed,  in  the  case  of  large  con- 


xvi    PREFACE  TO  THE  AMERICAN  EDITION 

sig7iments,  this  blind  trust  had  to  be  extended  to  almost  every 
man  of  his  crew.  What  a  romance  could  be  written  upon 
this  theme  alone  ! 

In  the  story  of  Adrian  Landale,  however,  it  plays  but  a 
subsidiary  part.  Brave,  joyous-hearted  Captain  Jack  and  his 
bold  venture  for  a  fortune  appear  only  in  the  drama  to  turn 
its  previous  course  to  unforeseen  channels;  just  as  in  most  of 
our  lives,  the  sudden  intrusion  of  a  new  strong  personality — 
transient  though  it  may  be,  a  tempest  or  a  meteor— changes 
their  seemingly  inevitable  trend  to  altogether  new  issues. 


It  was  urged  by  my  English  publishers  that,  in  "  The  Light 
of  Scarthey,"  I  relate  two  distinct  love-stories  and  ta)o  dis- 
tinct phases  of  one  man's  life;  and  that  it  were  wiser 
(by  which  word  I  presume  was  meant  more  profitable)  to  dis- 
tribute the  tale  between  two  books,  one  to  be  a  sequel  to  the 
other.  Happily  I  would  not  be  persuaded  to  cut  a  fully  com- 
posed canvas  in  two  for  the  sake  of  the  frames.  "  It  is  the 
fate  of  sequels,"  as  Stevenson  said  in  his  dedication  of 
Catriona,  "  to  disappoint  tJiose  who  have  waited  for  tJmn." 
Besides,  life  is  essentially  continuous. — //  may  fiot  be  inept 
to  state  a  truism  of  this  kitid  in  a  world  oftiovels  where  the 
climax  of  life,  if  not  indeed  its  very  conclusion,  is  held  to  he 
reached  on  the  day  of  marriage  !  Tliere  is  often,  of  course, 
more  than  one  true  passion  of  love  in  a  man's  life  ;  and  even 
if  the  second  does  not  really  kill  the  memory  of  the  first,  their 
course  (should  they  be  worth  the  telling)  may  well  be  told 
separately.  But  if,  in  the  story  of  a  man's  love  for  two 
women,  the  past  and  the  present  are  so  closely  interwoven  as 
were  the  reality  and  the  "might-have-been  "  in  the  mind  of 
Adrian  Landale,  any  separation  of  the  two  phases, youth 
and  maturity,  would  surely  have  stultified  the  whole  scheme 
of  the  story. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  AMERICAN  EDITION    xvii 

/  have  also  been  taken  to  task  by  some  critics  for  having, 
the  tale  once  opened  at  a  give?i  time  and  place,  harked  hack 
to  oilier  days  and  other  scenes :  ati  inartistic  and  confusing 
method,  I  was  told.  I  am  still  of  contrary  opinion.  There 
are  certain  stories  which  belong,  by  their  very  essence,  to 
certain  places.  All  ancient  buildings  have,  if  we  only  knew 
them,  their  human  dramas :  this  is  the  very  soul  of  the 
hidden  but  irresistible  attraction  they  retain  for  us  even  when 
deserted  a?id  dismantled  as  now  the  Peel  of  Scarthey .  For 
the  sake  of  harmonious  proportions,  and  in  order  to  give  it 
its  proper  atmosphere,  it  was  imperative  that  in  this  drama 
— wherever  the  intermediate  scenes  anight  be  placed,  whether 
on  the  banks  of  the  Vilaine,  on  the  open  sea,  or  in  Lancaster 
Castle — the  Prologue  should  be  witnessed  on  the  green  islet  in 
the  wilderness  of  sands,  even  as  the  Crisis  and  the  Closing 
Scene  of  rest  and  tenderness. 

49,  Sloane  Gardens, 

London,  S.  W. 
October  iSgg. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PART  I 

SIR  ADRIAN  LANDALE,  LIGHT-KEEPER  OF  SCARTHEY 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  The  Peel  of  Scarthey i 

II.  The  Light-Keeper .  6 

III.  Day  Dreams  :  A  Philosopher's  Fate i6 

IV.  Day  Dreams  :  A  Fair  Emissary 32 

V.  The  Awakening 43 

VI.  The  Wheel  of  Time 53 

VII.  Forebodings  of  Gladness 6;^ 

VIII.  The  Path  of  Wasted  Years 70 

IX.  A  Genealogical  Epistle 85 

PART  II 

"MURTHERING  MOLL  THE  SECOND" 

X.  The  Threshold  of  Womanhood 97 

XI.  A  Masterful  Old  Maid 113 

XII.  A  Record  and  a  Presentment 122 

XIII.  The  Distant  Light 136 

XIV.  The  Tower  of  Liverpool :  Master  and  Man 144 

XV.  Under  the  Light 156 

XVI.  The  Recluse  and  the  Squire 174 

xix 


XX  CONTENTS 

PART  III 

"CAPTAIN  JACK,"  THE  GOLD  SMUGGLER 

CHAP.  PAGE 

XVII.  Gold  Smuggler  and  the  Philosopher 191 

XVIII.  "Love  Gilds  the  Scene  and  Woman  Guides  the  Plot"..   211 

XIX.  A  Junior's  Opinion 224 

XX.  The  Quick  and  the  Dead 244 

XXI.  The  DawTi  of  an  Eventful  Day 252 

XXII.  The  Day :  Morning 262 

XXIII.  The  Day :  Noon 276 

XXIV.  The  Night 294 

XXV.  The  Fight  for  the  Open 309 

XXVI.  The  Three  Colours 323 

XXVII.  Under  the  Light  Again  :  The  Lady  and  the  Cargo 335 

XXVIII.  The  End  of  the  Thread 349 

XXIX.  The  Light  Goes  Out 364 

XXX.  Husband  and  Wife 375 

XXXI.  In  Lancaster  Castle 382 

XXXII.  The  One  He  Loved  and  the  One  Who  Loved  Him 393 

XXXIII.  Launched  on  the  Great  Wave 406 

XXXIV.  The  Gibbet  on  the  Sands 413 

XXXV.  The  Light  Rekindled 430 


PART   I 

SIR  ADRIAN  LANDALE,  LIGHT-KEEPER 
OF  SCARTHEY 


We  all  were  sea-swallowed,  though  some  cast  again ; 
And  by  that  destiny  to  peiform  an  act, 
Whereof  what's  past  is  Prologue. 

The  Tempest 


THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  PEEL  OF  SCARTHEY 

He  makes  a  solitude  and  calls  it  peace. 


Byron. 


Alone  in  the  south  and  seaward  corner  of  the  great  bight 
on  the  Lancastrian  coast — mournfully  alone  some  say, 
gloriously  alone  to  my  thinking — rises  in  singular  unex- 
pected fashion  the  islet  of  Scarthey  ;  a  green  oasis  secure 
on  its  white  rocky  seat  amidst  the  breezy  wilderness  of 
sands  and  waters. 

There  is,  in  truth,  more  sand  than  water  at  most  times 
round  Scarthey.  For  miles  northward  the  wet  strand 
stretches  its  silent  expanse,  tawny  at  first,  then  merging 
into  silver  grey  as  in  the  dim  distance  it  meets  the  shallow 
advance  of  briny  ripple.  Wet  sand,  brown  and  dull, 
with  here  and  there  a  brighter  trail  as  of  some  unde- 
cided river  seeking  an  aimless  way,  spreads  westward, 
deep  inland,  until  stopped  in  a  jagged  line  by  bluffs 
that  spring  up  abruptly  in  successions  of  white  rocky 
steps  and  green  terraces. 

Turn  you  seaward,  at  low  tide  there  lies  sand  again 
and  shingle  (albeit  but  a  narrow  beach,  for  here  a  depth 
of  water  sinks  rapidly)  laved  with  relentless  obstinacy  by 
long,  furling,  growling  rollers  that  are  grey  at  their  slug- 
gish base  and  emerald-lighted  at  their  curvetting  crest. 
Sand  yet  again  to  the  south,  towards  the  nearer  coast 
line,  for  a  mile  or  perhaps  less,  dotted,  along  an  irregular 
path,  with  grey  rocks  that  look  as  though  the  advance 
guard  of  a  giant  army  had  attempted  to  ford  its  insecure 
footing,  had  sunk  into  its  treacherous  shifting  pits,  and 

I 


2  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

left  their  blanching  skull-tops  half  emerging  to  record  the 
disaster. 

On  the  land  side  of  the  bight,  far  away  beyond  the 
grandly  desolate,  silent,  yellow  tract,  a  misty  blue  fringe 
on  the  horizon  heralds  the  presence  of  the  North  Country  ; 
whilst  beyond  the  nearer  beach  a  sprinkling  of  greenly 
ensconced  homesteads  cluster  round  some  peaceful  and 
paternal  looking  church  tower.  Near  the  salty  shore  a 
fishing  village  scatters  its  greystone  cabins  along  the  first 
terrace  of  the  bluffs. 

Outwards,  ever  changing  in  colour  and  temper  roll  and 
fret  the  grey  waters  of  the  Irish  Sea,  turbulent  at  times, 
but  generally  lenient  enough  to  the  brown-sailed  ketches 
that  break  the  regular  sweep  of  the  western  horizon  as 
they  toil  at  the  perpetual  harvest  of  the  deep. 

Thus  stands  Scarthey.  Although  appearing  as  an  island 
on  the  charts,  at  low  tides  it  becomes  accessible  dry- 
foot  from  the  land  by  a  narrow  causeway  along  the  line 
of  the  white  shallow  reefs,  which  connect  the  main  pile 
to  the  rocky  steps  and  terraces  of  the  coast.  But  woe  be- 
tide man  or  beast  that  diverges  many  feet  from  the  one 
secure  path  !  The  sands  of  the  great  bay  have  already 
but  too  well  earned  their  sinister  reputation. 

During  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  however,  Scarthey 
justifies  its  name — Skard-  or  Scarth-ey,  the  Knoll  Island 
in  the  language  of  the  old  Scandinavian  masters  of  the 
land. 

In  fair  weather,  or  in  foul,  whether  rising  out  of  sunny 
sands  when  the  ebbing  waters  have  retired,  or  assailed 
on  all  sides  by  ramping  breakers,  Scarthey  in  its  isolation, 
with  its  well-preserved  ruins  and  its  turret,  from  which  for 
the  last  hundred  years  a  light  has  been  burning  to  warn 
the  seafarer,  has  a  comfortable  look  of  security  and 
privacy. 

The  low  thick  wall  which  in  warlike  times  encom- 
passed the  bailey  (now  surrounding  and  sheltering  a  wide 
paddock  and  neat  kitchen  gardens)  almost  disappears 
under  a  growth  of  stunted,  but  sturdy  trees  ;  dwarf  alders 
and  squat  firs  that  shake  their  white-backed  leaves,  and 
swing  their  needle  clusters,  merrily  if  the  breeze  is  mild, 
obstinately  if  the  gale  is  rousing  and  seem  to  proclaim  : 
"Here  are  we,  well  and  secure.  Ruffle  and  toss,  and 
lash,  O  winds,  the  faithless  waters,  we  shall  ever  cling 


THE  PEEL  OF  SCARTHEY  3 

to  this  hospitable  footing,  the  only  kindly  soil  amid  this 
dreariness;  here  you  once  wafted  our  seed  ;  here  shall  we 
live  and  perpetuate  our  life."' 

On  the  sea  front  of  the  bailey  walls  rise,  sheer  from 
the  steep  rock,  the  main  body  and  the  keep  of  the  Peel. 
They  are  ruinous  and  shorn  of  their  whilom  great  height, 
humbled  more  by  the  wilful  destruction  of  man  than  by 
the  decay  of  time. 

But  although  from  a  distance  the  castle  on  the  green 
island  seems  utterly  dismantled,  it  is  not,  even  now,  all 
ruin.  And,  at  the  time  when  Sir  Adrian  Landale,  of 
Pulwick,  eighth  baronet,  adopted  it  as  his  residence,  it 
was  far  from  being  such. 

True,  the  greater  portion  of  that  mediaeval  building,  half 
monastic,  half  military,  exposed  even  then  to  the  search- 
ing winds  many  bare  and  roofless  chambers  ;  broken 
vaults  filled  with  driven  sands  ;  more  than  one  spiral 
stair  with  hanging  steps  leading  into  space.  But  the 
massive  square  keep  had  been  substantially  restored. 
Although  roofless  its  upper  platform  was  as  firm  as  when 
it  was  first  built  ;  and  in  a  corner,  solidly  ensconced,  rose 
the  more  modern  turret  that  sheltered  the  honest  warning 
light. 

The  wide  chambers  of  the  two  remaining  floors,  which 
in  old  warlike  days  were  maintained  bare  and  free,  and 
lighted  only  by  narrow  watching  loopholes  on  all  sides, 
had  been,  for  purposes  of  peaceful  tenanncy,  divided  into 
sundry  small  apartments.  New  windows  had  been 
pierced  into  the  enormous  thickness  of  stone  and  cement  ; 
the  bare  coldness  of  walls  was  also  hidden  under  more 
home-like  panellings.  Close-fitting  casements  and  solid 
doors  insured  peace  within  ;  the  wind  in  stormy  hours 
might  moan  or  rage  outside  this  rocky  pile,  might  hiss 
and  shriek  and  tear  its  wings  among  the  jagged  ruins, 
bellow  and  thunder  in  and  out  of  opened  vaults,  but  it. 
might  not  rattle  a  window  of  the  modern  castellan's 
quarters  or  shake  a  latch  of  his  chamber  door. 

There,  for  reasons  understood  then  only  by  himself, 
had  Sir  Adrian  elected,  about  the  "year  seven  "  of  this 
century  and  in  the  prime  of  his  age,  to  transplant  his 
lares  and  penates. 

The  while,  this  Adrian  Landale's  ancestral  home  stood, 
in  its   placid   and   double  pride  of  ancient  and  settled 


4  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

wealth,  only  some  few  miles  away  as  the  bee  flies,  in 
the  midst  of  its  noble  park,  slightly  retired  from  the 
coast-line  ;  and  from  its  upper  casements  could  be  de- 
scried by  day  the  little  green  patch  of  Scarthey  and  the 
jagged  outline  of  its  ruins  on  the  yellow  or  glimmering 
face  of  the  great  bay,  and  by  night  the  light  of  its  turret. 
And  there  he  was  still  living,  in  some  kind  of  happiness, 
in  the  "year  fourteen,"  when,  out  of  the  eternal  store  of 
events,  began  to  shape  themselves  the  latter  episodes  of 
a  life  in  which  storm  and  peace  followed  each  other  as 
abruptly  as  in  the  very  atmosphere  that  he  then  breathed. 

For  some  eight  years  he  had  nested  on  that  rock  with 
no  other  companions  but  a  dog,  a  very  ancient  house- 
keeper who  cooked  and  washed  for  "t'  young  mester  " 
as  she  obstinately  persisted  in  calling  the  man  whom  she 
had  once  nursed  upon  her  knee,  and  a  singular  sturdy 
foreign  man  (Rene  L'Apotre  in  the  language  of  his  own 
land,  but  known  as  Renny  Potter  to  the  land  of  his  adop- 
tion) ;  which  latter  was  more  than  suspected  of  having 
escaped  from  the  Liverpool  Tower,  at  that  time  the  law- 
ful place  of  custody  of  French  war  prisoners. 

His  own  voluntary  captivity,  however,  had  nothing 
really  dismal  for  Adrian  Landale.  And  the  inhabited  por- 
tions of  Scarthey  ruins  had  certainly  nothing  prison-like 
about  them,  nothing  even  that  recalled  the  wilful  con- 
trition of  a  hermitage. 

On  the  second  floor  of  the  tower  (the  first  being  allotted 
to  the  use,  official  and  private,  of  the  small  household), 
clear  of  the  surrounding  walls  and  dismantled  battlements, 
the  rooms  were  laid  out  much  as  they  might  have  been  up 
at  Pulwick  Priory  itself,  yonder  within  the  verdant  grounds 
on  the  distant  rise.  His  sleeping  quarters  plainly,  though 
by  no  means  ascctically  furnished,  opened  into  a  large 
chamber,  where  the  philosophic  light-keeper  spent  the  best 
part  of  his  days.  Here  were  broad  and  deep  windows, 
one  to  the  south  with  a  wide  view  of  the  bay  and  the 
nearer  coast,  the  other  to  the  west  where  the  open  sea 
displayed  her  changeable  moods.  On  three  sides  of  this 
room,  the  high  walls,  from  the  white  stone  floor  to  the 
time-blackened  beams  that  bore  the  ceiling,  almost  disap- 
peared under  the  irregular  rows  of  many  thousand  of 
volumes.  Two  wooden  armchairs,  bespeaking  little 
aversion  to  an  occasional  guest,  flanked  the  hearth. 


THE  PEEL  OF  SCARTHEY  5 

The  hearth  is  the  chief  refuge  of  the  lone  thinker  ;  this 
was  a  cosy  recess,  deep  cut  in  the  mediaeval  stone  and 
mortar ;  within  which,  on  chilly  days,  a  generous  heap  of 
sea-cast  timber  and  dried  turf  shot  forth  dancing  blue 
flames  over  a  mound  of  white  ash  and  glowing  cinders  ; 
but  which,  in  warmer  times,  when  the  casements  were 
unlatched  to  let  in  with  spring  or  summer  breeze  the  cries 
of  circling  sea-fowls  and  the  distant  plash  of  billows, 
offered  shelter  to  such  green  plants  as  the  briny  air  would 
favour. 

At  the  far  end  of  the  room  rose  in  systematical  clusters 
the  pipes  of  a  small  organ,  built  against  the  walls  where  it 
bevelled  off  a  corner.  And  in  the  middle  of  the  otherwise 
bare  apartment  stood  a  broad  and  heavy  table,  giving 
support  to  a  miscellaneous  array  of  books,  open  or  closed, 
sundry  philosophical  instruments,  and  papers  in  orderly 
disorder ;  some  still  in  their  virginal  freshness,  most, 
however,  bearing  marks  of  notemaking  in  various  stages. 

Here,  in  short,  was  the  study  and  general  keeping-room 
of  the  master  of  Scarthey,  and  here,  for  the  greater  part, 
daily  sat  Sir  Adrian  Landale,  placidly  reading,  writing,  or 
thinking  at  his  table ;  or  at  his  organ,  lost  in  soaring 
melody  ;  or  yet,  by  the  fireside,  in  his  wooden  armchair 
musing  over  the  events  of  that  strange  world  of  thought 
he  had  made  his  own  ;  whilst  the  aging  black  retriever 
with  muzzle  stretched  between  his  paws  slept  his  light, 
lazy  sleep,  ever  and  anon  opening  an  eye  of  inquiry  upon 
his  master  when  the  latter  spoke  aloud  his  thoughts  (as 
solitary  men  are  wont  to  do),  and  then  with  a  deep, 
comfortable  sigh,  resuming  dog-life  dreams. 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  LIGHT-KEEPER 

He  who  sits  by  the  fire  doth  dream, 
Doth  dream  that  his  heart  is  warm. 

But  when  he  awakes  his  heart  is  afraid  for  the  bitter  cold. 

Lideplayer''s  Song. 

The  year  1814  was  eventful  in  the  annals  of  the  political 
world.  Little,  however,  of  the  world's  din  reached  the 
little  northern  island  ;  and  what  there  came  of  it  was  not 
willingly  hearkened  to.  There  was  too  much  of  wars  past 
and  present,  too  many  rumours  of  wars  future  about  it, 
for  the  ear  of  the  recluse. 

Late  in  the  autumn  of  that  red-letter  year  which  brought 
a  short  respite  of  peace  to  war-ridden  Europe — a  fine,  but 
rather  tumultuous  day  round  Scarthey — the  light-keeper, 
having  completed  the  morning's  menial  task  in  the  light- 
turret  (during  a  temporary  absence  of  his  factotum)  sat, 
according  to  custom,  at  his  long  table,  reading. 

With  head  resting  on  his  right  hand  whilst  the  left  held 
a  page  ready  to  turn,  he  solaced  himself,  pending  the 
appearance  of  the  mid-day  meal,  with  a  few  hundred  lines 
of  a  favourite  work — the  didactic  poems,  I  believe,  of  a 
certain  Doctor  Erasmus  Darwin,  on  the  analogies  of  the 
outer  world. 

There  was  quite  as  little  of  the  ascetic  in  Adrian  Lan- 
dale's  physical  man  as  of  the  hermitage  in  his  chosen 
abode. 

With  the  exception  of  the  hair,  which  he  wore  long  and 
free,  and  of  which  the  fair  brown  had  begun  to  fade  to 
silver-grey,  the  master  of  Scarthey  was  still  the  living 
presentment  of  the  portrait  which,  even  at  that  moment, 
presided  among  the  assembly  of  canvas  Landales  in  the 
gallery  of  Pulwick  Priory.  Eight  years  had  passed  over 
the  model  since  the  likeness  had  been  fixed.  But  in  their 
present  repose,  the  features  clear  cut  and  pronounced,  the 
kindly  thoughtful  eyes  looked,  if  anything,  younger  than 
6 


THE  LIGHT-KEEPER  7 

their  counterfeit  ;  indeed,  almost  incongruously  young 
under  the  flow  of  fading  hair. 

Clean  shaven,  with  hands  of  refinement,  still  fastidious, 
his  long  years  of  solitude  notwithstanding,  as  to  general 
neatness  of  attire,  he  might  at  any  moment  of  the  day 
have  walked  up  the  great  stair  of  honour  at  Pulwick  with- 
out by  his  appearance  eliciting  other  remarks  than  that 
his  clothes,  in  cut  and  colour,  belonged  to  fashions  now 
some  years  lapsed. 

The  high  clock  on  the  mantelshelf  hummed  and  gurgled, 
and  with  much  deliberation  struck  one.  Only  an  instant 
later,  lagging  footsteps  ascended  the  wooden,  echoing 
.stairs  without,  and  the  door  was  pushed  open  by  the 
attendant,  an  old  dame.  She  was  very  dingy  as  to  garb, 
very  wrinkled  and  feeble  as  to  face,  yet  with  a  conscious 
achievement  of  respectability,  both  in  appearance  and 
manner,  befitting  her  post  as  housekeeper  to  the  "  young 
master."  The  young  master,  be  it  stated  at  once,  was  at 
that  time  fast  approaching  the  end  of  his  second  score 
years. 

"  Margery,"  said  Adrian,  rising  to  take  the  heavy  tray 
from  the  knotted,  trembling  hands  ;  "  you  know  that  I 
will  not  allow  you  to  carry  those  heavy  things  upstairs 
yourself."  He  raised  his  voice  to  sing-song  pitch  near 
the  withered  old  ear.  "  I  have  already  told  you  that 
when  Renny  is  not  at  home,  I  can  take  my  food  in  your 
kitchen." 

Margery  paused,  after  her  wont,  to  wait  till  the  sounds 
had  filtered  as  far  as  her  intellect,  then  proceeded  to  give  a 
few  angry  headshakes. 

"Eh!  Eh!  It  would  become  Sir  Adrian  Landale  o' 
Pulwick — Barrownite — to  have  's  meat  i'  the  kitchen — it 
would  that.  Nay,  nay,  Mester  Adrian,  I'm  none  so  old 
but  I  can  do  my  day's  work  yet.  Ah  !  an'  it  'ud  be  well 
if  that  gomerl,  Renny  Potter,  'ud  do  his'n.  See  here,  now, 
Mester  Adrian,  nowt  but  a  pint  of  wine  left ;  and  it  the 
last,"  pointing  her  withered  finger,  erratically  as  the  palsy 
shook  it,  at  a  cut-glass  decanter  where  a  modicum  of  port 
wine  sparkled  richly  under  the  facets.  "And  he  not  back 
yet,  whatever  mischief's  agate  wi'  him,  though  he  kens  yo 
like  your  meat  at  one."  And  then  circumstances  obliged 
her  to  add  :  "  He  is  landing  now,  but  it's  ower  late  i'  the 
day." 


8  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

"So — there,  Margery,"  sang  the  "Squire,"  giving  his 
old  nurse  affectionate  little  taps  on  the  back.  "Never 
fash  yourself;  tides  cannot  always  fit  in  with  dinner-hours, 
you  know.  And  as  for  poor  Renny,  I  believe  after  all  you 
are  as  fond  of  him,  at  the  bottom  of  your  heart,  as  I  am. 
Now  what  good  fare  have  you  got  for  me  to-day.?  "  bend- 
ing from  his  great  height  to  inspect  the  refection,  "Ah — 
hum,  excellent." 

The  old  woman,  after  another  pause  for  comprehension, 
retired  battling  with  dignity  against  the  obvious  pleasure 
caused  by  her  master's  affectionate  familiarity,  and  the 
latter  sat  down  at  a  small  table  in  front  of  the  south  window. 

Through  this  deep,  port-hole-like  aperture  he  could, 
whilst  disposing  of  his  simple  meal,  watch  the  arrival  of 
the  yawl  which  did  ferrying  duty  between  Scarthey  and 
the  mainland.  The  sturdy  little  craft,  heavily  laden  with 
packages,  was  being  hauled  up  to  its  usual  place  of  safety 
high  on  the  shingle  bank,  under  cover  of  a  remnant  of 
walling  which  in  the  days  of  the  castle's  strength  had 
been  a  secure  landing-place  for  the  garrison's  boats,  but 
which  now  was  almost  filled  by  the  cast-up  sands  and 
stone  of  the  beach. 

This  was  done  under  the  superintendence  of  Rene, 
man  of  all  work,  and  with  the  mechanical  intermediary 
of  rollers  and  capstan,  by  a  small  white  horse  shackled 
to  a  lever,  and  patiently  grinding  his  steady  rounds  on 
the  sand. 

His  preliminary  task  achieved,  the  man,  after  a  few 
friendly  smacks,  set  the  beast  free  to  trot  back  to  his  loose 
pasture  :  proceeding  himself  to  unship  his  cargo. 

Through  the  narrow  frame  of  his  window,  the  master, 
with  eyes  of  approval,  could  see  the  servant  dexterously 
load  himself  with  a  well-balanced  pile  of  parcels,  dis- 
appearing to  return  after  intervals  empty-handed,  within 
the  field  of  view,  and  select  another  burden,  now  heavier 
now  more  bulky. 

In  due  course  Ren^  came  up  and  reported  himself  in 
person,  and  as  he  stopped  on  the  threshold  the  dark  door- 
way framed  a  not  unstriking  presentment ;  a  young-look- 
ing man  for  his  years  (he  was  a  trifle  junior  to  his  master), 
short  and  sturdy  in  build,  on  whose  very  broad  shoulders 
sat  a  phenomenally  fair  head — the  hair  short,  crisp,  and 
curly,  in   colour  like  faded  tow — and  who,  in  smilingly 


THE  LIGHT-KEEPER  9 

respectful  silence,  gazed  into  the  room  out  of  small,  light- 
blue  eyes,  brimful  of  alertness  and  intelligence,  waiting 
to  be  addressed. 

"Renny,"  said  Adrian  Landale,  returning  the  glance 
with  one  of  comfortable  friendliness,  "  you  will  have  to 
make  your  peace  with  Margery  ;  she  considers  that  you 
neglect  me  shamefully.  Why,  you  are  actually  twenty 
minutes  late  after  three  days'  journeying,  and  perils  by 
land  and  sea  !  " 

The  Frenchman  answered  the  pleasantry  by  a  broader 
smile  and  a  scrape. 

"And,  your  honour,"  he  said,  "if  what  is  now  arriving 
on  us  had  come  half  an  hour  sooner,  I  should  have  rested 
planted  there  "  (with  a  jerk  of  the  flaxen  head  towards  the 
mainland),  "turning  my  thumbs,  till  to-morrow,  at  the 
least.     We  shall  have  a  grain,  number  one,  soon." 

He  spoke  English  fluently,  though  with  the  guttural 
accent  of  Brittany,  and  an  unconquerable  tendency  to 
translate  his  own  jargon  almost  word  for  word. 

In  their  daily  intercourse  master  and  man  had  come 
for  many  years  past  to  eschew  French  almost  entirely; 
Ren^  had  let  it  be  understood  that  he  considered  his 
proficiency  in  the  vernacular  quite  undeniable,  and  with 
characteristic  readiness  Sir  Adrian  had  fallen  in  with  the 
little  vanity.  In  former  days  the  dependant's  form  of 
address  hadheen  MonseTgneur  (considering,  and  shrewdly 
so,  an  English  landowner  to  stand  in  that  relation  to  a 
simple  individual  like  himself);  in  later  days  "  Mon- 
seigneur"  having  demurred  at  the  appellation,  "My 
lord,""  in  his  own  tongue,  the  devoted  servant  had  dis- 
covered "Your  honour"  as  a  happy  substitute,  and 
adhered  to  this  discovery  with  satisfaction. 

"Oh,  we  are  going  to  have  a  squall,  say  you,"  inter- 
preted the  master,  rising  to  inspect  the  weather-glass, 
which  in  truth  had  fallen  deep  with  much  suddenness. 
"  More  than  a  squall,  I  think  ;  this  looks  like  a  hurricane 
coming.  But  since  you  are  safe  home,  all's  well  ;  we  are 
secure  and  sound  here,  and  the  fishing  fleet  are  drawing 
in,  I  see,"  peering  through  the  seaward  window.  "And 
now,"  continued  Adrian,  laying  down  his  napkin,  and 
brushing  away  a  few  crumbs  from  the  folds  of  a  faultless 
silk  stock,  '  'what  have  you  for  me  there — and  what  news  ?  " 

"  News,  your  honour  !     Oh,  for  that  I  have  news  this 


lo  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

time/'  said  Mr.  Renny  Potter,  with  an  emphatic  nod, 
"but  if  your  honour  will  permit,  I  shall  say  them  last.  I 
have  brought  the  clothes  and  the  linen,  the  wine,  the 
brandy,  and  the  books.  Brandy  and  wine,  your  honour, 
I  heard,  out  of  the  last  prize  brought  into  Liverpool,  and 
a  Nantes  ship  it  was,  too  " — this  in  a  pathetically  philo- 
sophical tone.  Then  after  a  pause  :  "Also  provisions  and 
bulbs  for  the  devil's  pot,  as  Margery  will  call  it.  But  there 
is  no  saying,  your  honour  eats  more  when  I  have  brought 
him  back  onions,  eschalot,  and  ail ;  now  do  I  lie,  your 
honour  .?  May  I  ?  "  added  the  speaker,  and  forthwith  took 
his  answer  from  his  master's  smile  ;  "  may  I  respectfully 
see  what  tlie  old  one  has  kitchened  for  you  when  I  was 
not  there?  " 

And  Adrian  Landale  with  some  amusement  watched 
the  Frenchman  rise  from  the  package  he  was  then  un- 
cording to  examine  the  platters  on  the  table  and  loudly 
sniff  his  disdain. 

"Ah,  ah,  boiled  escallops  again.  Perfectly — boiled 
cabbage  seasoned  with  salt.  Not  a  taste  in  the  whole 
affair.  Prison  food — oh,  yes,  old  woman  !  Why,  we 
nourished  ourselves  better  in  the  Tower,  when  we  could 
have  meat  at  all.  Ah,  your  honour,"  sighed  the  man 
returning  to  his  talk  ;  "you  others,  English,  are  big  and 
strong,  but  you  waste  great  things  in  small  enjoyment  !  " 

"Oho,  Renny,"  said  the  light-keeper  squire,  as  he  leant 
against  the  fireplace  leisurely  filling  a  long  clay  pipe, 
"  this  is  one  of  your  epigrams  ;  I  must  make  a  note  of  it 
anon  ;  but  let  me  see  now  what  you  really  have  in  those 
parcels  of  books — for  books  they  are,  are  they  not .''  so 
carefully  and  neatly  packed." 

"Books,"  assented  the  man,  undoing  the  final  fold  of 
paper.  "Mr.  Young  in  the  High  Street  of  Liverpool  had 
the  packets  ready.  He  says  you  must  have  them  all  ; 
and  all  printed  this  year.  What  so  many  people  can  want 
to  say,  I  for  my  count  cannot  comprehend.  Three  more 
parcels  on  the  stairs,  your  honour.  Mr.  Young  says  you 
must  have  them.  But  it  took  two  porters  to  carry  them 
to  the  Preston  diligence." 

Not  without  eagerness  did  the  recluse  of  Scarthey  bend 
over  and  finger  the  unequal  rows  of  volumes  arrayed  on 
the  table,  and  with  a  smile  of  expectation  examine  the 
labels. 


THE  LIGHT-KEEPER  ii 

"The  Corsair"  and  "Lara"  he  read  aloud,  lifting-  a 
small  tome  more  dahitily  printed  than  the  rest.  '•  Lord 
Byron.  What's  this .?  Jane  Austen,  a  novel.  'Roderick, 
last  of  the  Goths.'  Dear,  dear,"  his  smile  fading  into 
blankness  ;  "tiresome  man,  I  never  gave  him  orders  for 
any  such  things." 

Rene,  battling  with  his  second  parcel,  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"The  librarian,"  he  explained,  "said  that  all  the 
world  read  these  books,  and  your  honour  must  have 
them." 

"Well,  well,"  continued  the  hermit,  "what  else.? 
'Jeremy  Bentham,'  a  new  work  ;  Ricardo,  another  book 
on  economy;  Southey  the  Laureate,  'Life  of  Nelson.' 
Really,  Mr.  Young  might  have  known  that  naval  deeds 
have  no  joy  for  me,  hardly  more  than  for  you,  Renny," 
smiling  grimly  on  his  servant.  "  'Edinburgh  Review,'  a 
London  magazine  for  the  last  six  months  ;  '  Rees's  Cyclo- 
paedia,'vols.  24-27  ;  Wordsworth,  'The  Recluse.'  Ah,  old 
Willie  Wordsworth  !  Now  I  am  anxious  to  see  what  he 
has  to  say  on  such  a  topic." 

"  Dear  Willie  Wordsworth,"  mused  Sir  Adrian,  sitting 
down  to  turn  over  the  pages  of  the  "Excursion,"  "how 
widely  have  our  lives  drifted  apart  since  those  college 
days  of  ours,  when  we  both  believed  in  the  coming  mil- 
lennium and  the  noble  future  of  mankind — noble  man- 
kind !  " 

He  read  a  few  lines  and  became  absorbed,  whilst  Rend 
noiselessly  busied  himself  in  and  out  of  the  chamber. 
Presently  he  got  up,  book  in  hand,  slowly  walked  to  the 
north  window,  and  passively  gazed  at  the  misty  distance 
where  rose  the  blue  outline  of'the  lake  hills. 

"  So  my  old  friend,  almost  forgotten,"  he  murmured, 
"that  is  where  you  indite  such  worthy  lines.  It  were 
enough  to  tempt  me  out  into  men's  world  again  to  think 
that  there  would  be  many  readers  and  lovers  abroad  of 
these  words  of  yours.  So,  that  is  what  five  and  twenty 
years  have  done  for  you — what  would  you  say  to  what 
they  have  done  for  me  ....?" 

It  was  a  long  retrospect. 

Sir  Adrian  was  deeply  immersed  in  thought  when  he 
became  aware  that  his  servant  had  come  to  a  standstill, 
as  if  waiting  for  a  return  of  attention.      And  in  answer  to 


12  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

the  mute  appeal  he  turned  his  head  once  more  in  Rent's 
direction. 

"Your  honour,  everything  is  in  its  place,"  began  the 
latter,  with  a  fitting  sense  of  his  own  method.  "I  have 
now  to  report  that  I  saw  your  man  of  business  in  Lan- 
caster, and  he  has  attended  to  the  matter  of  the  brothers 
Shearman's  boat  that  was  lost.  I  saw  the  young  men 
themselves  this  morning.  They  are  as  grateful  to  Sir 
Adrian  as  people  in  this  country  can  express."  This  last 
with  a  certain  superiority. 

Sir  Adrian  received  the  announcement  of  the  working 
of  one  of  his  usual  bounties  with  a  quiet  smile  of  gratifica- 
tion. 

"They  also  told  me  to  say  that  they  would  bring  the 
firewood  and  the  turf  to-morrow.  But  they  won't  be  able 
to  do  that  because  we  shall  liave  dirty  weather.  Then 
they  told  me  that  when  your  honour  wants  fish  they 
begged  your  honour  to  run  up  a  white  flag  over  the  lan- 
tern— they  thought  that  a  beautiful  idea — and  they  would 
bring  some  as  soon  as  possible.  I  took  on  myself  to 
assure  them  that  I  could  catch  what  fish  your  honour 
requires ;  and  the  prawns,  too  ....  but  that  is  what 
they  asked  me  to  say." 

"Well,  well,  and  so  you  can,"  said  the  master,  amused 
by  the  show  of  sub-acute  jealousy.      * '  What  else  ?  " 

"  The  books  of  the  man  of  business  and  the  banker  are 
on  the  table.  I  have  also  brought  gazettes  from  Liver- 
pool." Here  the  fellow's  countenance  brimmed  with  the 
sense  of  his  news' importance.  "I  know  your  honour 
cares  little  for  them.  But  this  time  I  think  you  will  read 
them.  Peace,  your  honour,  it  is  the  peace  !  It  is  all 
explained  in  these  journals — the  '  Liverpool  INIercury.'" 

Renny  lifted  the  folded  sheets  from  the  table  and 
handed  them  with  contained  glee.  "There  has  been 
peace  these  six  months,  and  we  never  knew  it.  I  read 
about  it  the  whole  way  back  from  the  town.  The  Em- 
peror is  shut  up  on  an  island — but  not  so  willingly  as 
your  Honour,  ah,  no  ! — and  there  is  an  end  of  citizen 
Bonaparte.  Peace,  France  and  England  no  longer  fight- 
ing, it  is  hard  to  believe — and  our  old  kings  are  coming 
back,  and  everything  to  be  again  as  in  the  old  days. 

Sir  Adrian  took  the  papers,  not  without  eagerness,  and 
glanced  over  the  narrative  of  events,  already  months  old, 


THE  LIGHT-KEEPER  13 

with  all  the  surprise  of  one  who,  having  wilfully  shut 
himself  out  from  the  affairs  of  the  world,  ignored  the 
series  of  disasters  that  had  brought  about  the  tyrant's 
downfall. 

"As  you  say,  my  friend,  it  is  almost  incredible,"  he 
said,  at  length.  Then  thoughtfully:  "And  now  you 
will  be  wanting  to  return  home  ?  "  said  he. 

Rend,  who  had  been  scanning  his  master's  face  with 
high  expectation,  felt  his  heart  leap  as  he  thought  he  per- 
ceived a  hidden  tone  of  regret  in  the  question. 

He  drew  himself  up  to  his  short  height,  and  with  a  very 
decided  voice  made  answer  straightway  : 

"  I  shall  go  away  from  your  honour  the  day  when  your 
honour  dismisses  me.  If  your  honour  decides  to  live  on 
this  rock  till  my  hour,  or  his,  strikes — on  this  rock  with 
him  I  remain.  I  am  not  conceited,  I  hope,  but  what, 
pray,  will  become  of  your  honour  here  without  me.?  " 

There  was  force  in  this  last  remark,  simply  as  it  was 
pronounced.  Through  the  mist  of  interlacing  thoughts 
suggested  by  the  word  Peace  !  (the  end  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, that  distant  event  which,  nevertheless,  had  had  such 
sweeping  influence  over  the  course  of  his  whole  life),  it 
brought  a  faint  smile  to  Sir  Adrian's  lips. 

He  took  two  steps  forward  and  laid  his  hand  familiarly 
on  the  man's  broad  shoulder,  and,  in  a  musing  way,  he 
said  at  intervals  : 

"Yes,  yes,  indeed,  good  Renny,  what  would  become 
of  me  } — what  would  have  become  of  me  .? — how  long 
ago  it  seems  ! — without  you  ?  And  yet  it  might  have 
been  as  well  if  two  skeletons,  closely  locked  in  embrace, 
blanched  by  the  grinding  of  the  waters  and  the  greed  of 
the  crabs,  now  reposed  somewhere  deep  in  the  sands  of 

that  Vilaine  estuary This  score  of  years,  she  has 

had  rest  from  the  nightmare  that  men  have  made  of  life 
on  God's  beautiful  earth.  I  have  been  through  more  of 
it,  my  good  Renny." 

Rene's  brain  was  never  equal  to  coping  with  his  mas- 
ter's periodic  fits  of  pessimism,  though  he  well  knew  their 
first  and  ever-present  cause.  In  a  troubled  way  he  looked 
about  the  room,  so  peaceful,  so  retired  and  studious ;  and 
Sir  Adrian  understood. 

"Yes,  yes,  you  are  right  ;  I  have  cut  off  the  old  life," 
he  made  answer  to  the  unspoken  expostulation,    "and 


14  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

that  I  can  live  in  my  own  small  world  without  foregoing 
all  my  duties,  I  owe  to  you,  my  good  friend  ;  but  start- 
ling news  like  this  brings  back  the  past  very  livingly,  dead 
though  it  be — dead." 

Rene  hesitated  ;  he  was  pondering  over  the  advisability 
of  disburdening  himself  of  yet  another  strange  item  of 
information  he  had  in  reserve  ;  but,  as  his  master,  rousing 
himself  with  an  effort  as  if  to  dismiss  some  haunting 
thought,  turned  round  again  to  the  table,  he  decided  that 
the  moment  was  not  propitious. 

"  So  you  have  seen  to  all  these  things,"  said  Sir  Adrian 
wearily.      "Good;  I  will  look  over  them." 

He  touched  the  neat  pile  of  books  and  papers,  listlessly, 
as  he  spoke,  yet,  instead  of  sitting  down,  remained  as  he 
was,  with  eyes  that  had  grown  wondering,  staring  out 
across  the  sea. 

"  Look,"  he  said  presently,  in  a  low  voice,  and  Rene 
noticed  a  rare  flush  of  colour  rise  to  the  thin  cheeks. 
"Look — is  not  this  day  just  like — one  we  both  remember 
well  .  .  .  .  ?  Listen,  the  wind  is  coming  up  as  it  did 
then.     And  look  at  yonder  sky  !  " 

And  taking  the  man  by  the  arm,  he  advanced  slowly 
with  him  towards  the  window. 

In  the  west  the  heavens  on  the  horizon  had  grown 
threateningly  dark  ;  but  under  the  awe-inspiring  slate- 
coloured  canopy  of  clouds  there  opened  a  broad  archway 
filled  with  primrose  light — the  luminous  arch,  well  known 
to  seafarers,  through  which  charge  the  furious  south- 
western squalls.  The  rushing  of  the  storm  was  already 
visible  in  the  distance  over  the  grey  waters,  which  having 
been  swayed  for  days  by  a  steady  Aquilon  were  now 
lashed  in  flank  by  the  sudden  change  of  wind. 

The  two  men  looked  out  for  a  while  in  silence  at  the 
spectacle  of  the  coming  storm.  In  the  servant's  mind 
ran  various  trivial  thoughts  bearing  on  the  present — what 
a  lucky  matter  it  was  that  he  should  have  returned  in 
time  ;  only  just  in  time  it  was  ;  from  the  angry  look  of 
the  outer  world  the  island  would  now,  for  many  a  day 
be  besieged  by  seas  impassable  to  such  small  craft  as 
alone  could  reach  the  reef.  Had  he  tarried  but  to  the 
next  tide  (and  how  sorely  he  had  been  tempted  to  remain 
an  hour  more  in  the  gatekeeper's  lodge  within  sight  and 
hearing   of  buxom   Moggie,   Margery's  granddaughter). 


THE  LIGHT-KEEPER  15 

had  he  missed  the  tide,  for  days,  maybe  for  weeks,  would 
the  master  have  had  to  watch  and  tend,  alone,  the  beacon 
fire.  But  here  he  was,  and  all  was  well ;  and  he  had 
still  the  marvellous  news  to  tell.  Should  he  tell  them 
now  ?  No,  the  master  was  in  one  of  his  trances — lost  far 
away  in  the  past  no  doubt,  that  past  that  terminated  on 
such  a  day  as  this.  And  Sir  Adrian,  with  eyes  fixed  on 
the  widening  arch  of  yellow  light,  was  looking  inwards 
on  the  far-away  distance  of  time. 

Men,  who  have  been  snatched  back  to  life  from  death 
in  the  deep,  recall  how,  before  seeming  to  yield  the  ghost, 
the  picture  of  their  whole  existence  passed  in  vivid  light 
before  the  eye  of  their  mind.  Swift  beyond  the  power  of 
understanding  are  such  revelations  ;  in  one  flash  the 
events  of  a  good  or  an  evil  life  leap  before  the  seeing 
soul — moment  of  anguish  intolerable  or  of  sublime 
peace  ! 

On  such  a  boisterous  day  as  this,  some  nineteen  years 
before,  by  the  sandy  mouth  of  the  river  Vilaine,  on  the 
confines  of  Brittany  and  Vendue  had  Adrian  Landale 
been  drowned  ;  under  such  a  sky,  and  under  the  buffets 
of  such  an  angry  wind  had  he  been  recalled  to  life,  and 
in  the  interval,  he  had  seen  the  same  pictures  which  now, 
coursing  back  many  years  in  a  few  seconds,  passed 
before  his  inward  vision. 


CHAPTER  III 

DAY  DREAMS  :  A  PHILOSOPHER'S  FATE 

Le  beau  temps  de  ma  jeunesse  ....  quand  j'etais  si  malheureux. 

The  borderland  between  adolescence  and  manhood,  in 
the  life  of  men  of  refined  aspirations  and  enthusiastic 
mettle,  is  oftener  than  not  an  unconsciously  miserable 
period — one  which  more  mature  years  recall  as  hollow, 
deceiving-,  bitterly  unprofitable. 

Yet  there  is  always  that  about  the  memories  of  those  far- 
off  youn^  days,  their  lofty  dreams  long  since  scattered, 
their  virgin  delights  long  since  lost  in  the  drudgery  of 
earthly  experience,  which  ever  and  anon  seizes  the  heart 
unawares  and  fills  it  with  that  infinite  weakness  :  that 
mourning  for  the  dead  and  gone  past,  which  yet  is  not 
regret. 

In  the  high  days  of  the  Revolutionary  movement  across 
the  water,  Adrian  Landale  was  a  dreamy  student  living  in 
one  of  those  venerable  Colleges  on  the  Cam,  the  very 
atmosphere  of  which  would  seem  sufficient  to  glorify  the 
merits  of  past  ages  and  past  mstitutions. 

Amidst  such  peaceful  surroundings  this  eldest  scion  of 
an  ancient,  north-country  race — which  had  produced 
many  a  hardy  fighter,  though  never  yet  a  thinker  nor 
even  a  scholar — amid  a  society  as  prejudiced  and  narrow- 
minded  as  all  privileged  communities  are  bound  to 
become,  had  nevertheless  drifted  resistlessly  towards  that 
unfathomable  sea  whither  a  love  for  the  abstract  beautiful, 
a  yearning  for  super-earthly  harmony  and  justice,  must 
inevitably  waft  a  young  intelligence. 

As  the  academical  years  glided  over  him,  he  accumu- 
lated much  classical  lore,  withal  read  much  latter-day 
philosophy  and  developed  a  fine  youthful,  theoretical  love 
for  the  new  humanitarianism.  He  dipped  £Esthetically 
into  science,  wherein  he  found  a  dim  kind  of  help  towards 

i6 


DAY  DREAMS:  A  PHILOSOPHER'S  FATE     17 

a  more  recondite  appreciation  of  the  beauties  of  nature. 
His  was  not  a  mind  to  delight  in  profound  knowledge, 
but  rather  in  "  intellectual  cream." 

He  solaced,  himself  with  essays  that  would  have  been 
voted  brilliant  had  they  dealt  with  things  less  extravagant 
than  Universal  Harmony  and  Fraternal  Happiness  ;  with 
verses  that  all  admitted  to  be  highly  polished  and  melo- 
dious, but  something  too  mystical  in  meaning  for  the  un- 
derstanding of  an  every-day  world  ;  with  music,  whereof 
he  was  conceded  an  interpreter  of  no  mean  order. 

In  fact  the  worship  of  his  soul  might  have  been  said  to 
be  the  Beautiful  in  the  abstract — the  Beautiful  in  all  its 
manifestations  which  include  Justice,  Harmony,  Truth, 
and  Kindliness — the  one  indispensable  element  of  his 
physical  happiness,  the  Beautiful  in  the  concrete. 

This  is  saying  that  Adrian  Landale,  for  all  his  array  of 
definite  accomplishments,  which  might  have  been  a  never- 
failing  source  of  interest  in  an  easy  existence,  was  fitted  in 
a  singularly  unfortunate  manner  for  the  life  into  which  one 
sudden  turn  of  fortune's  wheel  unexpectedly  launched  him. 

During  the  short  halcyon  days  of  his  opening  inde- 
pendence, however,  he  was  able  to  make  himself  the 
centre  of  such  a  world  as  he  would  have  loved  to  live  in. 
He  was  not,  of  course,  generally  popular,  either  at  college 
or  at  home  ;  nor  yet  in  town,  except  among  that  small  set 
in  whose  midst  he  inevitably  found  his  way  wherever  he 
went ;  his  inferiors  in  social  status  perhaps,  these  chosen 
friends  of  his  ;  but  their  lofty  enthusiasms  were  both 
appreciative  of  and  congenial  to  his  own.  Most  of  them, 
indeed,  came  in  after-life  to  add  their  names  to  England's 
roll  of  intellectual  fame,  partly  because  they  had  that  in 
them  which  Adrian  loathed  as  unlovely — the  instinct  and 
will  of  strife,  partly,  it  must  be  added,  because  they  re- 
mained free  in  their  circumstances  to  follow  the  lead  of 
their  nature.     Which  freedom  was  not  allotted  to  him. 

On  one  magnificent  frosty  afternoon,  early  in  the  year 
1794,  the  London  coach  deposited  Adrian  Landale  in  front 
of  the  best  hostelry  in  Lancaster,  after  more  than  a  year's 
separation  from  his  family. 

This  separation  was  not  due  to  estrangement,  but  rather 
to  the  instigation  of  his  own  sire,  Sir  Thomas — a  gentle- 
man of  the  "fine  old  school" — who,  exasperated  by  the, 
2 


i8  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

to  him,  incomprehensible  and  insupportable  turn  of  mind 
developed  by  his  heir  (whom  he  loved  well  enough, 
notwithstanding,  in  his  own  way),  had  hoped,  in  good 
utilitarian  fashion,  that  a  prolonged  period  of  contact  with 
the  world,  lubricated  by  a  plentiful  supply  of  money, 
might  shake  his  "  bigsawney  of  ason  "  out  of  his  sickly- 
sentimental  views  ;  that  it  would  show  him  i\\ziige7ille7fi€7is 
society — and,  "  by  gad,  ladies'  too  " — was  not  a  thing  to 
be  shunned  for  the  sake  of  "wild-haired  poets,  dirty 
firebrands,  and  such  cattle." 

The  downright  old  baronet  was  even  prepared,  in  an 
unformed  sort  of  way,  to  see  his  successor  that  was  to  be 
return  to  the  paternal  hearth  the  richer  for  a  few  gentle- 
manly vices,  provided  he  left  his  nonsense  behind  him. 

As  the  great  lumbering  vehicle,  upon  the  box  seat  of 
which  sat  the  young  traveller,  lost  in  dreamy  speculation 
according  to  his  wont,  drew  clattering  to  a  halt,  he  failed 
at  first  to  notice  the  central  figure  in  the  midst  of  the 
usual  expectant  crowd  of  inn  guests  and  inn  retainers, 
called  forward  by  the  triumphant  trumpeting  which  heralds 
the  approach  of  the  mail.  There,  however,  stood  the 
Squire  of  Pulwick,  "Sir  Tummus  "  himself,  in  jDortly  and 
jovial  importance. 

The  father's  eyes,  bright  and  piercing  under  his  bushy 
white  brows,  had  already  detected  his  boy  from  a  distance ; 
and  they  twinkled  as  he  took  note,  with  all  the  pride  of 
an  author  in  his  work,  of  the  symmetry  of  limb  and 
shoulders  set  forth  by  the  youth's  faultless  attire — and  the 
dress  of  men  in  the  old  years  of  the  century  was  indeed 
calculated  to  display  a  figure  to  advantage — of  the  light- 
ness and  grace  of  his  frame  as  he  dismounted  from  his 
perch  ;  in  short  of  the  increased  manliness  of  his  looks 
and  bearing. 

But  a  transient  frown  soon  came  to  overshade  Sir 
Thomas's  ruddy  content  as  he  descried  the  deep  flush  (an 
old  weakness)  which  mantled  the  young  cheeks  under  the 
spur  of  unexpected  recognition. 

And  when,  later,  the  pair  emerged  from  the  inn  after  an 
hour's  conversation  over  a  bottle  of  burnt  sherry — conver- 
sation which,  upon  the  father's  side,  had  borne,  in  truth, 
much  the  character  of  cross-examination — to  mount  the 
phaeton  with  which  a  pair  of  high-mettled  bays  were 
impatiently  waiting  the  return  homewards,  there  was  a 


DAY  DREAMS  :  A  PHILOSOPHER'S  FATE     19 

very  definite  look  of  mutual  dissatisfaction  to  be  read  upon 
their  countenances. 

Whiling  away  the  time  in  fitful  constrained  talk,  par- 
celled out  by  long  silences,  they  drove  again  through  the 
gorgeous,  frost-speckled  scenery  of  rocky  lands  until  the 
sheen  of  the  great  bay  suddenly  peered  between  two 
distant  scars,  proclaiming  the  approach  to  the  Pulwick 
estate.  The  father  then  broke  a  long  spell  of  muteness, 
and  thus  to  his  son,  in  his  ringing  country  tones,  as  if 
pursuing  aloud  the  tenor  of  his  thoughts  : 

"  Hark'ee,  Master  Adrian,"  said  he,  "  that  you  are  now 
a  man  of  parts,  as  they  say,  I  can  quite  see.  You  seem 
to  have  read  a  powerful  lot  of  things  that  do  not  come 
our  way  up  here.  But  let  us  understand  each  other.  I 
cannot  make  head  or  tail  of  these  far-fetched  new-fangle 
notions  you,  somehow  or  other,  have  fallen  in  love  with 
— your  James  Fox,  your  Wilberforce,  your  Adam  Smith, 
they  may  be  very  fine  fellows,  but  to  my  humble  thinking 
they're  but  a  pack  of  traitors  to  king  and  country, 
when  all  is  said  and  done.  All  this  does  not  suit  an 
English  gentleman.  You  think  differently  ;  or  perhaps 
you  do  not  care  whether  it  does  or  not.  I  admit  I  can't 
hold  forth  as  you  do  ;  nor  string  a  lot  of  fine  words 
together.  I  am  only  an  old  nincompoop  compared  to  a 
clever  young  spark  like  you.  But  I  request  you  to  keep 
off  these  topics  in  the  company  I  like  to  see  round  my 
table.  They  don't  like  Jacobins,  you  know,  no  more 
do  I  !  " 

"  Nor  do  I,"  said  Adrian  fervently. 

"Nor  do  you?  Don't  you,  sir,  don't  you?  Why, 
then  what  the  devil  have  you  been  driving  at?  " 

"I  am  afraid,  sir,  you  do  not  understand  my  views." 

''Well,  never  mind;  I  don't  like  "em.  that's  short,  and 
if  you  bring  them  out  before  your  cousin,  little  Madame 
Savenaye,  you  will  come  off  second  best,  my  lad,  great 
man  as  you  are,  and  so  I  warn  you  !  " 

In  tones  as  unconcerned  as  he  could  render  them  the 
young  man  sought  to  turn  the  intercourse  to  less  personal 
topics,  by  inquiring  further  anent  this  unknown  cousin 
whose  very  name  was  strange  to  him. 

Sir  Thomas,  easily  placable  if  easily  roused,  started 
willingly  enough  on  a  congenial  topic.  And  thus  Adrian 
conceived   his  first  impression   of  that   romantic   being 


20  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

whose  deeds  have  remained  legendary  in  the  French  west 
country,  and  who  was  destined  to  exercise  so  strong  an 
influence  upon  his  own  life. 

"Who  is  she?  "  quoth  the  old  gentleman,  with  evident 
zest.  "Ay.  All  this  is  news  to  you,  of  course.  Well: 
she  was  Cecile  de  Kermelegan.  You  know  your  mother's 
sister  Mary  Donoghue  (murthering  Moll,  they  called  her 
on  account  of  her  killing  eyes)  married  a  M.  de  Kerme- 
legan,  a  gentleman  of  Brittany.  Madame  de  Savenaye 
is  her  daughter  (first  cousin  of  yours),  that  means  that  she 
has  gfood  old  Eno-Hsh  blood  in  her  veins  and  Irish  to  boot. 
She  speaks  English  as  well  as  you  or  I,  her  mother's 
teaching  of  course,  but  she  is  French  all  the  same  ;  and, 
by  gad,  of  the  sort  which  would  reconcile  even  an  English- 
man with  the  breed  !  " 

Sir  Thomas's  eyes  sparkled  with  enthusiasm  ;  his  son 
examined  him  with  grave  wonder. 

"  The  very  sight  of  her,  my  boy,  is  enough  to  make  a 
man's  heart  warm.  Wait  till  you  see  her  and  she  begins 
to  talk  of  what  the  red-caps  are  doing  over  there — those 
friends  of  yours,  who  are  putting  in  practice  all  your  fine 
theories  !  And,  bookworm  as  you  are,  I'll  warrant  she'll 
warm  your  sluggish  blood  for  you.  Ha  !  she's  a  rare 
little  lady.     She  married  last  year  the  Count  of  Savenaye. " 

Adrian  assumed  a  look  of  polite  interest. 

"Emigre,  I  presume.?"  he  said,  quietly. 

"Emigre?  No,  sir.  He  is  even  now  fighting  the 
republican  rapscallions,  d — n  them,  and  thrashing  them, 
too,  yonder  in  his  country.  She  stuck  by  his  side  ;  ay, 
like  a  good  plucked  one  she  did,  until  it  became  palpable 
that,  if  there  was  to  be  a  son  and  heir  to  the  name,  she 
had  better  go  and  attend  to  its  coming  somewhere  else, 
in  peace.  Ho,  ho,  ho  !  Well,  England  was  the  safest 
place,  of  course,  and,  for  her,  the  natural  one.  She 
came  and  offered  herself  to  us  on  the  plea  of  relationship. 
I  was  rather  taken  aback  at  first,  I  own  ;  but,  gad,  boy, 
when  I  saw  the  woman,  after  hearing  what  she  had  had 
to  go  through  to  reach  us  at  all,  I  sang  another  song. 
Well,  she  is  a  fine  creature — finer  than  ever  now  that  the 
progeny  has  been  satisfactorily  hatched  ;  a  brace  of  girls 
instead  of  the  son  and  heir,  after  all  !  Two  of  them  ;  no 
less.  Ho,  ho,  ho !  And  she  was  furious,  the  pretty 
dear  !     However,  you'll  soon  see  for  yourself.     You  will 


DAY  DREAMS:  A  PHILOSOPHER'S  FATE     21 

see  a  woman,  sir,  who  has  loaded  and  fired  cannon  with 
her  own  hands,  when  the  last  man  to  serve  it  had  been 
shot.  Ay,  and  more  than  that,  my  lad — she's  brained 
a  hulking  sans-culotte  that  was  about  to  pin  her  servant 
to  the  floor.  The  lad  has  told  me  so  himself,  and  I  dare- 
say he  can  tell  you  more  if  you  care  to  practise  your 
French  with  master  Rene  L'Apotre,  that's  the  fellow  !  A 
woman  who  sticks  to  her  lord  and  master  in  mud  and 
powder-smoke  until  there  is  precious  little  time  to  spare, 
when  she  makes  straight  for  a  strange  land,  in  a  fishing- 
smack,  with  no  other  protector  than  a  peasant ;  and  now, 
with  an  imp  of  a  black-eyed  infant  to  her  breast  (Sally 
Mearson's  got  the  other  ;  you  remember  Sally,  your  own 
nurse's  daughter?),  looks  like  a  chit  of  seventeen.  That's 
what  you'll  see,  sir.  And  when  she  sails  downstairs  for 
dinner,  dressed  up,  powdered  and  high-heeled,  she  might 
be  a  princess,  a  queen  who  has  never  felt  a  crumpled 
roseleaf  in  her  life.      Gad  !  I'm  getting  poetical,  I  declare." 

In  this  strain  did  the  Squire,  guiding  his  horses  with 
strong,  dexterous  hand,  expatiate  to  his  son  ;  the  crisp 
air  rushing  past  them,  making  their  faces  glow  with  the 
tingling  blood  until,  burning  the  ground,  they  dashed  up 
the  avenue  that  leads  to  the  white  mansion  of  Pulwick, 
and  halted  amidst  a  cloud  of  steam  before  its  Palladian 
portico. 

What  happened  to  Adrian  the  moment  after  happens, 
as  a  rule,  only  once  in  a  man's  lifetime. 

Through  the  opening  portals  the  guest,  whose  con- 
densed biography  the  Squire  had  been  imparting  to  his 
son  (all  unconsciously  eliciting  thereby  more  repulsion 
than  admiration  in  the  breast  of  that  fastidious  young 
misogynist),  appeared  herself  to  welcome  the  return  of 
her  host. 

Adrian,  as  he  retired  a  pace  to  let  his  father  ascend  the 
steps,  first  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  miraculously  small  and 
arched  foot,  clad  in  pink  silk,  and,  looking  suddenly  up, 
met  fully  the  flash  of  great  dark  eyes,  set  in  a  small  white 
face,  more  brilliant  in  their  immense  blackness  than  even 
the  glinting  icicles  pendant  over  the  lintel  that  now  shot 
back  the  sun's  sinking  glory. 

The  spell  was  of  the  kind  that  the  reason  of  man  can 
never  sanction,  and  yet  that  have  been  ever  and  will  be 
while  man  is.     This  youth,  virgin  of  heart,   dreamy  of 


22  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

head  who  had  drifted  to  his  twentieth  year,  all  unscathed 
by  passion  or  desire,  because  he  had  never  met  aught  in 
flesh  and  blood  answering  to  his  unconscious  ideal,  was 
struck  to  the  depth  of  his  soul  by  the  presence  of  one,  as 
unlike  this  same  ideal  as  any  living  creature  could  be  ; 
struck  with  fantastic  suddenness,  and  in  that  all-encom- 
passing manner  which  seizes  the  innermost  fibres  of  the 
being. 

It  was  a  pang  of  pain,  but  a  revelation  of  glory. 

He  stood  for  some  moments,  with  paling  cheeks  and 
hotly-beating  heart,  gazing  back  into  the  wondrous  eyes. 
She,  yielding  her  cheek  carelessly  to  the  Squire's  hearty 
kiss,  examined  the  new-comer  curiously  the  while  : 

"Why — how  now,  tut,  tut,  what's  this?"  thundered 
the  father,  who,  following  the  direction  of  her  eyes, 
wheeled  round  suddenly  to  discover  his  son's  strange 
bearing,  "  Have  you  lost  all  the  manners  as  well  as  the 
notions  of  a  gentleman,  these  last  two  years.'*  Speak  to 
Madame  de  Savenaye,  sir  ! — Cecile,  this  is  my  son  ;  pray 
forgive  him,  my  dear  ;  the  fellow's  shyness  before  ladies 
is  inconceivable.  It  makes  a  perfect  fool  of  him,  as  you 
see." 

But  Madame  de  Saven aye's  finer  wits  had  already  per- 
ceived something  different  from  the  ordinary  display  of 
English  shyness  in  the  young  man,  whose  eyes  remained 
fixed  on  her  face  with  an  intentness  that  savoured  in  no 
way,  of  awkwardness.  She  now  broke  the  spell  with  a 
broader  smile  and  a  word  of  greeting. 

"  You  are  surprised,"  said  she  in  tripping  words,  tinged 
with  a  distinct  foreign  intonation,  "  to  see  a  strange  face 
here,  Mr.  Adrian — or,  shall  I  say  cousin  ?  for  that  is  the 
style  I  should  adopt  in  my  Brittany.  Yes,  you  see  in  me 
a  poor  foreign  cousin,  fleeing  for  protection  to  your  noble 
country.     How  do  you  do,  my  cousin  ?  " 

She  extended  a  slender,  white  hand,  one  rosy  nail  of 
which,  bending  low,  Adrian  gravely  kissed. 

"  Afai's,  comment  done  !  "  exclaimed  the  lady,  "  my  dear 
uncle  did  you  chide  your  son  just  now.!*  Why,  but  these 
are  Versailles  manners — so  gallant,  so  courtly  !  " 

And  she  gave  the  boy's  fingers,  as  they  lingered  under 
hers,  first  a  discreet  little  pressure,  and  then  a  swift  flip 
aside. 

"Ah  1  how  cold  you  are  !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  and  then. 


DAY  DREAMS  :  A  PHILOSOPHER'S  FATE     23 

laughing,  added  sweetly:   "Cold  hands,  warm   heart,  of 
course." 

And  with  rapping  heels  she  turned  into  the  great  hall 
and  into  the  drawing-room  whither  the  two  men — the 
father  all  chuckles,  and  the  son  still  struck  with  wonder 
. — followed  her. 

She  was  standing  by  the  hearth  holding  each  foot  alter- 
nately to  the  great  logs  flaming  on  the  tiles,  ever  and 
anon  looking  over  her  shoulder  at  Adrian,  who  had 
advanced  closer,  without  self-consciousness,  but  still  in 
silence. 

"Now,  cousin,"  she  remarked  gaily,  "there  is  room 
for  you  here,  big  as  you  are,  to  warm  yourself.  You 
must  be  cold.  I  know  already  all  about  your  family,  and 
I  must  know  all  about  you,  too  !  I  am  very  curious, 
I  hnd  them  all  such  good,  kind,  handsome  people  here, 
3Vid  I  am  told  to  expect  in  you  something  quite  different 
from  any  of  them.  Now,  where  does  the  difference 
come  in  ?  You  are  as  tall  as  your  father,  but  in  face — 
no,  I  believe  it  is  your  pretty  sisters  you  are  like  in 
face. " 

Here  the  Squire  interrupted  with  his  loud  laugh,  and, 
clapping  his  hand  on  his  stalwart  son's  head: 

-'You  have  just  hit  it,  Ce'cile,  it's  here  the  difference 
lies.  Adrian,  I  really  believe,  is  a  little  mistake  of  Dame 
Nature  ;  his  brain  was  meant  for  a  girl  and  was  tacked 
on  to  that  big  body  by  accident,  ho,  ho,  ho  !  He  is  quite 
lady-like  in  his  accomplishments — loves  music,  and  plays, 
by  gad,  better  than  our  organist.  Writes  poetry,  too.  I 
found  some  devilish  queer  things  on  his  writing-table 
once,  which  were  not  a//  Latin  verses,  though  he  would 
fain  I  thought  so.  And  as  for  deportment,  Madame 
Ce'cile,  why  there  is  more  propriety,  in  that  hobbedehoy, 
at  least,  more  blushing  in  him,  than  in  all  the  bread-and- 
butter  misses  in  the  county!" 

Adrian  said  nothing  ;  but,  when  not  turned  towards 
the  ground,  his  gaze  still  sought  the  Countess,  who  now 
returned  the  look  with  a  ripening  smile  open  to  any 
interpretation. 

"Surely,"  she  remarked,  glancing  then  at  the  elder  for 
an  instant  with  some  archness,  "surely  you  English  gen- 
tlemen, who  have  so  much  propriety,  would  not  rather 
there  was  young  Mr.  Bradbury,  we  heard  talked 


24  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

of  yesterday,  whom  every  farmer  with  a  red-cheeked  lass 
of  his  own — " 

"No,  no!"  hastily  interrupted  the  baronet,  with  a 
blush  himself,  while  Adrian's  cheek  in  spite  of  the  recent 
indictment  preserved  its  smooth  pallor — in  truth,  the  boy, 
lost  in  his  first  love-dream,  had  not  understood  the  allu- 
sion. "No,  I  don't  want  a  Landale  to  be  a  blackguard, 
you  know,  but — "  And  the  father,  unable  to  spfit  this 
ethical  hair,  to  logical  satisfaction,  stopped  and  entered 
another  channel  of  grumbling  vituperation,  whilst  the 
Countess,  very  much  amused  by  her  private  thoughts, 
gave  a  little  rippling  laugh,  and  resumed  her  indulgent 
contemplation  of  the  accused. 

"What  a  pity,  now,  school-boy  Rupert  is  not  the 
eldest  ;  there  would  be  a  country  gentleman  for  you  I 
Whereas,  this  successor  that  is  to  be  of  mine  is  a  man  of 
books  and  a  philosopher.  Forsooth,  a  first-class  book- 
worm ;  by  gad,  I  believe  the  first  of  our  race  !  And  he 
might  make  a  name  for  himself,  I've  been  told,  among 
that  lot,  though  the  pack  o'  nonsense  he  treats  us  to  at 
times  cannot,  I'm  thinking,  really  go  down  even  among 
those  college  fuzzle-heads.  But  I  am  confounded  if  that 
chap  will  ever  be  of  any  use  as  a  landlord  whenever  he 
steps  into  my  shoes.  He  hates  a  gun,  and  takes  more 
pleasure — what  was  it  he  said  last  time  he  was  here.? — 
oh,  yes,  more  pleasure  in  watching  a  bird  dart  in  the  blue 
than  bringing  it  down,  be  it  never  so  neat  a  shot.  Ho, 
ho  !  did  ye  ever  hear  such  a  thing?  And  though  he  can 
sit  a  horse — I  will  say  that  for  him  (I  should  like  to  see  a 
Landale  that  could  not  !  ) — I  have  seen  this  big  boy  of 
mine  positively  sicken,  ay  !  and  scandalise  the  hunt  by 
riding  away  from  the  death.  Moreover,  I  believe  that, 
when  I  am  gone,  he  will  always  let  off  any  poaching 
scoundrel  on  the  plea  that  the  vermin  only  take  for  their 
necessity  what  we  preserve  for  sport," 

The  little  foreign  lady,  smiling  no  longer,  eyed  her  big 
cousin  with  wonderins:  looks. 

"Strange,  indeed,"  she  remarked,  "that  a  man  should 
fail  to  appreciate  the  boon  of  man's  existence,  the  strength 
and  freedom  to  dominate,  to  be  up  and  doing,  to  live  in 
fact.  How  I  should  long  to  be  a  man  myself,  if  I  ever 
allowed  myself  to  long  for  anything  ;  but  I  am  a  woman, 
as  you  see,"   she  added,  rising  to  the  full  height  of  her 


DAY  DREAMS:  A  PHILOSOPHER'S  FATE     25 

exquisite  figure,  "  and  must  submit  to  M'oman's  lot — and 
that  is  just  now  to  the  point,  for  I  must  leave  you  to  go 
and  see  to  the  wants  of  that  mioche  of  mine  which  I  hear 
whining  upstairs.  But  I  do  not  believe  my  uncle's  account 
of  you  is  a  complete  picture  after  all,  cousin  Adrian.  I 
shall  get  it  out  of  you  anon,  catechise  you  in  my  own 
way,  and,  if  needs  be,  convert  you  to  a  proper  sense  of 
the  glorious  privileges  of  your  sex." 

And  she  ran  out  of  the  room. 

"Well,  my  lad,"  said  Sir  Thomas,  that  evening,  when 
the  ladies  had  left  the  two  men  to  their  decanter,  "  I 
thought  my  Frenchwoman  would  wake  you  up,  but,  by 
George,  I  hardly  expected  she  would  knock  you  all  of  a 
heap  so  quick.  Hey  !  you're  winged,  Adrian,  winged, 
or  this  is  not  port." 

"  I  cannot  say,  sir,"  answered  Adrian,  musing. 

The  old  man  caught  up  the  unsatisfactory  reply  in  an 
exasperated  burlesque  of  mimicry  :  "I  cannot  say,  sir — 
you  cannot  say  .?  Pooh,  pooh,  there  is  no  shame  in  being 
in  love  with  her.  We  all  are  more  or  less  ;  pass  the  bottle. 
As  for  you,  since  you  clapped  eyes  on  her  you  have  been 
like  a  man  in  the  moon,  not  a  word  to  throw  to  a  dog,  no 
eyes,  no  ears  but  for  your  own  thoughts,  so  long  as  madam 
is  not  there.  Enter  madam,  you're  alive  again,  by  George, 
and  pretty  lively,  too  !  Gad,  I  never  thought  I'd  ever  see 
you  do  the  lady's  man,  all  in  your  own  queer  way,  of 
course  ;  but,  hang  it  all,  she  seems  to  like  it,  the  little 
minx  !  Ay,  and  if  she  has  plenty  of  smiles  for  the  old 
man  she's  ready  to  give  her  earnest  to  you — I  saw  her, 
I  saw  her.  But  don't  you  forget  she's  married,  sir,  very 
much  married,  too.  She  don't  forget  it  either,  I  can  tell 
you,  though  you  may  think  she  does.  Now,  what  sort  of 
game  is  she  making  of  you  ?  What  were  you  talking 
about  in  the  picture  gallery  for  an  hour  before  dinner,  eh  ?  " 

"To  say  the  truth,"  answered  the  son,  simply,  "it  was 
about  myself  almost  the  whole  time." 

"  And  she  flattered  you  finely,  I'll  be  bound,  of  course," 
said  his  elder,  with  a  knowing  look.  "  Oh,  these  women, 
these  women  !  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  sir,  she  thinks  even  less  of  me  than 
you  do.  That  woman  has  the  soul  of  a  savage  ;  we  have 
not  one  thought  in  common." 

The  father  burst  into  a  loud  laugh.      ' '  A  pretty  savage  to 


26  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

look  at,  anyhow  ;  a  well-polished  one  in  the  bargain,  ho, 
ho,  ho  !  Well,  well,  I  must  make  up  my  mind,  I  suppose, 
that  my  eldest  son  is  a  lunatic  in  love  with  a  savage." 

Adrian  remained  silent  for  a  while,  toying  with  his 
glass,  his  young  brow  contracted  under  a  painful  frown. 
At  length,  checking  a  sigh,  he  answered  with  deliberation  : 
"Since  it  is  so  palpable  to  others,  I  suppose  it  must  be 
love,  as  you  say.  I  had  thought  hitherto  that  love  of  \vhich 
people  talk  so  much  was  a  feeling  of  sweetness.  What  I 
feel  in  this  lady's  presence  is  much  more  kin  to  anguish  ; 
for  all  that,  as  you  have  noticed,  I  appear  to  live  only 
when  she  is  nigh." 

The  father  looked  at  his  son  and  gaped.     The   latter 
went  on,  after  another  pause  : 

"  I  suppose  it  is  so,  and  may  as  well  own  it  to  myself 
and  to  you,  though  nothing  can  come  of  it,  good  or  bad. 
She  is  married,  and  she  is  "your  guest  ;  and  even  if  any 
thought  concerning  me  could  enter  her  heart,  the  merest 
show  of  love  on  my  part  would  be  an  insult  to  her  and 
treason  to  you.  But  trust  me,  I  shall  now  be  on  my 
guard,  since  my  behaviour  has  already  appeared  strange." 
"Tut,  tut,"  said  the  Baronet,  turning  to  his  wine  in 
some  dudgeon,  his  rubicund  face  clouding  as  he  looked 
with  disfavour  at  this  strange  heir  of  his,  who  could  not 
even  fall  in  love  like  the  rest  of  his  race.  "  What  are  you 
talking  about  ?  Come,  get  out  of  that  and  see  what  the 
little  "lady's  about,  and  let  me  hear  no  more  of  this. 
She'll  not  compromise  herself  with  a  zany  like  you,  any- 
how, that  I'll  warrant." 

But  Adrian  with  all  the  earnestness  of  his  nature  and 
his  very  young  fears  was  strenuously  resolved  to  watch 
himself  narrovvly  in  his  intercourse  with  his  too  fascinat- 
ing'- relative  ;  little  recking  how  infinitesimal  is  the  power 
of  a  man's  free-will  upon  the  conduct  of  his  life. 

The  next  morning  found  the  little  Countess  in  the 
highest  spirits.  Particularly  good  news  had  arrived  from 
he^r  land  with  the  early  courier.  True,  the  news  were 
more  than  ten  days  old,  but  she  had  that  insuperable 
buoyancy  of  hopefulness  which  attends  active  and 
healthy  natures. 

The  Breton  peasants  (she  explained  to  the  company 
round  the  breakfast  table),  headed  by  their  lords  (among 
whom  was  her  own  Seigneur  et  Mailre)  had  again  crushed 


DAY  DREAMS:  A  PHILOSOPHER'S  FATE     27 

the  swarms  of  rag-ged  brigands  that  called  themselves 
soldiers.  From  all  accounts  there  was  no  hope  for  the 
latter,  their  atrocities  had  been  such  that  the  whole  land, 
from  Normandy  to  Guyenne,  was  now  in  arms  against 
them. 

And  in  Paris,  the  hot  pit  whence  had  issued  the  storm 
of  foulness  that  blasted  the  fair  kingdom  of  France  after 
laying  low  the  hallowed  heads  of  a  good  king  and  a 
beautiful  queen,  in  Paris,  leaders  and  led  were  now  chop- 
ping each  other's  heads  off,  a  qui  mieux  mieux.  "Those 
thinkers,  those  lofty  patriots,  hein,  beau  cousin,  for  whom, 
it  seems,  you  have  an  admiration,"  commented  the  lady, 
interrupting  her  account  to  sip  her  cup  of  cream  and 
chocolate,  with  a  little  finger  daintily  cocked,  and  shoot 
a  mocking  shaft  at  the  young  philosopher  from  the  depth 
of  her  black  eyes. 

"  Like  demented  wolves  they  are  destroying  each  other 
— Pray  the  God  of  Justice,"  quoted  she  from  her  husband's 
letter,  "that  it  may  only  last ;  in  a  few  months,  then, 
there  will  be  none  of  them  left,  and  the  people,  relieved 
from  this  rule  of  blood,  will  all  clamour  for  the  true  order 
of  things,  and  the  poor  country  may  again  know  peace 
and  happiness.  Meanwhile,  all  has  yet  to  be  won,  by 
much  devotion  and  self-sacrifice  in  the  cause  of  God  and 
King ;  and  afterwards  will  come  the  reward  !  .  .   . 

"And  the  revenge,"  added  Madame  de  Savenaye,  with 
a  little,  fierce  laugh,  folding  the  sanguine  budget  of  news. 
"  Oh  !  they  must  leave  us  a  few  for  revenge  !  How  we 
shall  make  the  hounds  smart  when  the  King  returns  to 
his  own  !  And  then  for  pleasures  and  for  life  again. 
And  we  may  yet  meet  at  the  mansion  of  Savenaye,  in 
Paris,"  she  went  on  gaily,  "my  good  uncle  and  fair 
cousins,  for  the  King  cannot  fail  to  recall  his  faithful  sup- 
porter. And  there  will  be  feasts  and  balls.  And  there, 
maybe,  we  shall  be  able  to  repay  in  part  some  of  your 
kindness  and  hospitality.  And  you,  cousin  Adrian,  you 
will  have  to  take  me  through  pavanne  and  gavotte  and^ 
minuet  ;  and  I  shall  be  proud  of  my  northern  cavalier. 
What  !  not  know  how  one  dances  the  gavotte .?  Fi  done  ! 
what  ignorance  !  I  shall  have  to  teach  you.  Your  hand, 
monsieur,"  slipping  the  missive  from  the  seat  of  war  into 
her  fair  bosom.  "La!  not  that  way;  with  a  grace,  \i 
you  please,"  making  a  profound  curtsey.     "  Ah,  still  that 


28  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

cold  hand  ;  your  great  English  heart  must  be  a  very  fur- 
nace. Come,  point  your  right  foot — so.  And  look  round 
at  your  partner  with — what  shall  I  say — admiration 
sir ie use  !  " 

That  she  saw  admiration,  serious  enough  in  all  con- 
science in  Adrian's  eyes,  there  was  little  doubt.  With 
sombre  heart  he  failed  not  to  mark  every  point  of  this 
all-human  grace,  but  to  him  goddess-like  beauty,  the 
triumph  and  glory  of  youth.  The  coy,  dainty  poise  of 
the  adorable  foot — pointed  so — and  treading  the  ground 
with  the  softness  of  a  kitten  at  play  ;  the  maddening 
curve  of  her  waist,  which  a  sacque,  depending  from  an 
exquisite  nape,  partly  concealed,  only  to  enhance  its 
lithe  suppleness  ;  the  divinely  young  throat  and  bust  ; 
and  above  all  the  dazzling  black  rays  from  eyes  alter- 
nately mocking,    fierce  or  caressing. 

Well  might  his  hand  be  cold  with  all  his  young  untried 
blood,  biting  at  his  heart,  singing  in  his  head.  Why  did 
God  place  such  creatures  on  His  earth  to  take  all  savour 
from  aught  else  under  the  sun  ? 

"Fair  cousin,  fair  cousin,  though  I  said  serious  admira- 
tion, I  did  not  mean  you  to  look  as  if  you  were  taking  me 
to  a  funeral.  You  are  supposed  to  be  enjoying  yourself, 
you  know  ! " 

The  youth  struggled  with  a  ghastly  smile  ;  and  the 
father  laughed  outright.  But  Madame  de  Savenaye 
checked  herself  into  gravity  once  more. 

"Alas!  A'ous  71  en  sotnmes  pas  eficore  la,"  she  said, 
and  relinquished  her  adorer's  hand.      "We  have  still  to 

fight  for  it Oh  !   that  I  were  free  to  be  up  and 

doing  !  " 

The  impatient  exclamation  was  wrung  out  of  her,  ap- 
parently, by  the  appearance  of  two  nurses,  each  bearing 
an  infant  in  long,  white  robes  for  the  mother's  inspection  ; 
a  preliminary  to  the  daily  outing. 

The  elder  of  these  matrons  was  Adrian's  own  old  nurse 
who,  much  occupied  with  her  new  duties  of  attendant 
to  Madame  de  Savenaye  and  one  of  her  babies,  now  be- 
held her  foster-son  again  for  the  first  time  since  his  return. 

"Eh — but  you've  grown  a  gradely  men,  Hester 
Adrian  !  "  she  cried,  in  her  long-drawn  Lancastrian, 
dandling  her  bundle  energetically  from  side  to  side  in 
the  excess  of  her  admiration,  and  added  with  a  laugh  of 


DAY  DREAMS  :  A  PHILOSOPHER'S  FATE     29 

tender  delight:  "Eh,  but  you're  my  own  lad  still,  as 
how  'tis  !  "  when,  blushing,  the  young  man  crossed  the 
room  and  stooped  to  kiss  her,  glancing  shyly  the  while 
at  the  white  bundle  in  her  arms. 

"Well,  and  how  are  the  little  ones?"  quoth  Madame 
de  Savenaye,  swinging  her  dainty  person  up  to  the  group 
and  halting  by  beaming  Sally — the  second  nurse,  who 
proudly  held  forth  her  charge — merely  to  lay  a  finger 
lightly  on  the  infant's  little  cheek. 

"Ah,  my  good  Sally,  your  child  does  you  credit ! — Now 
Margery,  when  you  have  done  embracing  that  fine  young 
man,  perhaps  you  will  give  me  my  child,  hein  P  " 

Both  the  nurses  blushed  ;  Margery  at  the  soft  impeach- 
ment as  she  delivered  over  the  minute  burden  ;  her 
daughter  in  honest  indignation  at  the  insulting  want  of 
interest  shown  for  her  foster-babe. 

"No,  I  was  not  made  to  play  with  puppets  like  you, 
mademoiselle,"  said  the  comtesse,  addressing  herself  to 
the  unconscious  little  being  as  she  took  it  in  her  arms, 
but  belying  her  words  by  the  grace  and  instinctive  mater- 
nal expertness  with  which  she  handled  and  soothed  the 
infant.  "Yes,  you  can  go,  Sarah — aurevoir,  Mademoi- 
selle Madeleine.  Fie  the  little  wretch,  what  faces  she 
pulls  !  And  you,  Margery,  you  need  not  wait  either ;  I 
shall  keep  this  creature  for  a  while.  Poor  little  one  !  " 
sang  the  mother,  walking  up  and  down,  and  patting  the 
small  back  with  her  jewelled  hand  as  she  held  the  wee 
thing  against  her  shoulder,  "indeed  I  shall  have  soon  to 
leave  you " 

"What's  this — what's  this?"  exclaimed  the  master  of 
the  house  with  sudden  sharpness.  He  had  been  survey- 
ing the  scene  from  the  hearthrug,  chuckling  in  benevo- 
lent amusement  at  little  Madam's  ways. 

Yes,  it  was  her  intention  to  return  to  her  place  by  the 
side  of  her  lord,  she  explained,  halting  in  her  walk  to 
face  him  gravely ;  she  had  come  to  that  resolution.  No 
doubt  her  uncle  would  take  the  children  under  his  care 
until  better  times — those  good  times  that  were  so  fast  ap- 
proaching. Buxom  Sally  could  manage  them  both — and 
to  spare,  too  ! 

Adrian  felt  his  heart  contract  at  the  unexpected  an- 
nouncement ;  a  look  of  dismay  overspread  Sir  Thomas's 
face. 


30  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

"Why — what?  what  nonsense,  child  !  "  cried  he  again 
in  rueful  tones.  "  Fou,  return  to  that  place  now  .... 
what  good  do  you  think  you  could  do — eh  ?  "  But  here 
recollecting  himself,  he  hesitated  and  started  upon  a  more 
plausible  line  of  expostulation.  "Pooh,  pooh!  You 
can't  leave  the  little  ones,  your  husband  does  not 
ask  you  to  come  back  and  leave  them,  does  he?  In 
any  case,"  with  assumed  authority,  "I  shall  not  let 
you  go." 

She  looked  up  with  a  smile. 

"  Would  _>'0z^  allow  your  friends  to  continue  fighting 
alone  for  all  you  love,  because  you  happened  to  be  in  safe 
and  pleasant  circumstances  yourself?  "  she  asked.  Then 
she  added  ingenuously:  "1  have  heard  you  say  of  one 
that  was  strong  of  will  and  staunch  to  his  purpose,  that 
he  was  a  regular  Briton.  I  thought  that  flattering  :  I  am 
a  Briton,  of  Brittany,  you  know,  myself,  uncle  :  would 
you  have  me  be  a  worthless  Briton  ?  As  to  what  a 
woman  can  do  there — ah,  you  have  no  idea  what  it  means 
for  all  these  poor  peasants  of  ours  to  see  their  lords  re- 
main among  them,  sharing  their  hardship  in  defence  of 
their  cause.  Concerning  the  children,"  kissing  the  one 
she  held  and  gazing  into  its  face  with  wistful  look,  "  they 
can  better  afford  to  do  without  me  than  my  husband  and 
our  men.  A  strong  woman  to  tend  them  till  we  come 
back,  is  all  that  is  wanted,  since  a  good  relative  is  will- 
ing to  give  them  shelter.  Rend  cannot  be  long  in  return- 
ing now,  with  the  last  news.  Indeed,  M.  de  Savenaye 
says  that  he  will  only  keep  him  a  few  days  longer,  and, 
according  to  the  tidings  he  brings  must  I  fix  the  date  for 
my  departure." 

Sir  Thomas,  with  an  inarticulate  growl,  relapsed  into 
silence  ;  and  she  resumed  her  walk  with  bent  head,  lost 
in  thought,  up  and  down  the  great  room,  out  of  the  pale 
winter  sunshine  into  the  shadow,  and  back  again,  to  the 
tune  of  "  Malbrook  s'en  va  t'en  guerre,"  which  she 
hummed  beneath  her  breath,  while  the  baby's  foolish 
little  head,  in  its  white  cap  from  which  protruded  one  tiny 
straight  wisp  of  brown  hair,  with  its  beady,  xmseeing 
black  eyes  and  its  round  mouth  dribbling  peacefully, 
bobbed  over  her  shoulder  as  she  went. 

Adrian   stood  in    silence   too,    following  her   with   his 
eyes,  while  the  picture,  so  sweet  to  see,  so  strange  to  one 


DAY  DREAMS  :  A  PHILOSOPHER'S  FATE     31 

who  knew  all  that  was  brewing  in  the  young  mother's 
head  and  heart,  stamped  itself  upon  his  brain. 

At  the  door,  at  length,  she  halted  a  moment,  and  looked 
at  them  both. 

"  Yes,  my  friends,"  she  said,  and  her  eyes  shot  flame  ; 
"I  must  go  soon."  The  baby  bobbed  its  head  against 
her  cheek  as  if  in  affirmative  ;  then  the  great  door  closed 
upon  the  pair. 


CHAPTER  IV 
DAY  DREAMS  :  A  FAIR  EMISSARY 

Many  guests  had  been  convened  to  the  hospitable  board 
of  Pulwick  upon  the  evening  which  followed  Adrian's  re- 
turn home  ;  and  as,  besides  the  fact  that  the  fame  of  the 
French  lady  had  spread  enthusiasm  in  most  of  the  male 
breasts  of  the  district  and  anxious  curiosity  in  gentler 
bosoms,  there  was  a  natural  neighbourly  desire  to  criticise 
the  young  heir  of  the  house  after  his  year's  absence,  the 
county  had  responded  in  a  body  to  the  invitation. 

It  was  a  goodly  company  therefore  that  was  assembled 
in  the  great  withdrawing  rooms,  when  the  Countess  her- 
self came  tripping  down  the  shallow  oaken  stairs,  and 
found  Adrian  waitmg  for  her  in  the  hall. 

He  glanced  up  as  she  descended  towards  him  to  cover 
her  with  an  ardent  look  and  feast  his  eyes  despairingly 
on  her  beauty ;  and  she  halted  a  moment  to  return  his 
gaze  with  a  light  but  meaning  air  of  chiding. 

"  Cousin  !  "  she  said,  "  you  have  very  singular  manners 
for  one  supposed  to  be  so  shy  with  ladies.  Do  you 
know  that  if  my  husband  were  here  to  notice  them  you 
might  be  taken  to  task  ?  " 

Adrian  ran  up  the  steps  to  meet  her.  The  man  in  him 
was  growing  apace  with  the  growth  of  a  man's  passion, 
and  by  the  boldness  of  his  answer  belying  all  his  recent 
wise  resolutions,  he  now  astonished  himself  even  more 
than  her. 

"You  are  going  back  to  him,"  he  said,  with  halting 
voice.  "All  is  well — for  him  ;  perhaps  for  you.  For  us, 
who  remain  behind  there  is  nothing  left  but  the  bitter- 
ness of  regret — and  envy." 

^hen  in  silence  they  descended  together. 

As  they  were  crossing  the  hall  there  entered  suddenly 
to  them,  stumbling  as  he  went.  Rend,  the  young  Breton 

32 


DAY  DREAMS:   A  FAIR  EMISSARY       33 

retainer,  whom  the  lord  of  Savenaye  had  appointed  as 
squire  to  his  lady  upon  her  travels,  and  who,  since  her 
establishment  at  Pulwick,  had  been  sent  to  carry  news 
and  money  back  to  Brittany. 

No  sooner  had  the  boy— for  such  he  was,  though  in 
intelligence  and  blind  devotion  beyond  his  years — passed 
into  the  light,  than  on  his  haggard  countenance  was  read 
news  of  disastrous  import.  Recent  tears  had  blurred  his 
sunburnt  cheek,  and  the  hand  that  tore  the  hat  from  his 
head  at  the  unexpected  sight  of  his  mistress,  partly  in 
instinctive  humility,  partly,  it  seemed,  to  conceal  some 
papers  he  held  against  his  breast,  twitched  with  nervous 
anguish. 

"Rene'!"  cried  the  Countess,  eagerly,  in  French. 
"  What  hast  thou  brought .?  Sweet  Jesu  !  Bad  news — 
bad  news  ?     Give  !  " 

For  an  instant  the  courier  looked  around  like  a  hunted 
animal  seeking  a  retreat,  and  then  up  at  her  in  dumb 
pleading  ;  but  she  stamped  her  foot  and  held  him  to  the 
spot  by  the  imperiousness  of  her  eye. 

"Give,  I  tell  thee,"  she  repeated  ;  and,  striking  the  hat 
away,  snatched  the  papers  from  his  hand.  "  Dost  thou 
think  I  cannot  bear  ill  news — My  husband  ?  " 

She  drew  nearer  to  a  candelabra,  and  the  little  white 
hands  impatiently  broke  the  seals  and  shook  the  sheets 
asunder. 

Sir  Thomas,  attracted  by  his  favourites  raised  tones 
and  uneasy  at  her  non-appearance,  opened  the  drawmg- 
room  door  and  came  forward  anxiously,  whilst  his  as- 
sembled guests,  among  whom  a  sense  that  something  of 
importance  was  passing  had  rapidly  spread,  now  gathered 
curiously  about  the  open  doorway. 

The  Countess  read  on,  unnoticing,  with  compressed 
lips  and  knitted  brows — those  brows  that  looked  so  black 
on  the  fair  skin,  under  the  powdered  hair. 

"  My  husband  !  ah,  I  knew  it,  my  Andre'  ....  the 
common  fate  of  the  loyal  !  "  A  sigh  lifted  the  fair  young 
bosom,  but  she  showed  no  other  sign  of  weakness. 

Indeed  those  who  watched  this  unexpected  scene  were 
struck  by  the  contrast  between  the  bearing  of  this  young, 
almost  girlish  creature,  who,  holding  the  written  sheets 
with  firm  hands  to  the  light,  read  their  terrible  contents 
with  dry  eyes,  and  that  of  the  man  who  had  sunk,  kneel- 

3 


34  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

ing,  at  her  feet,  all  undone,  to  have  had  the  bringing  of 
the  news. 

The  silence  was  profound,  save  for  the  crackling  of 
the  pages  as  she  turned  them  over,  and  an  occasional 
long-drawn  sob  from  the  messenger. 

When  she  came  to  the  end  the  young  widow — for  such 
she  was  now — remained  some  moments  absorbed  in 
thought,  absently  refolding  the  letter  into  its  original  neat- 
ness. Then  her  eyes  fell  on  Rene's  prostrate  figure  and 
she  stooped  to  lay  a  kind  hand  for  an  instant  on  his 
shoulder. 

"Bear  up,  my  good  Rene,"  she  said.  At  her  voice 
and  touch  he  dragged  his  limbs  together  and  stood 
humbly  before  her. 

"We  must  be  brave,"  she  went  on;  "your  master's 
task  is  done — ours,  yours  and  mine,  is  not." 

He  lifted  his  bloodshot  eyes  to  her  with  the  gaze  of  a 
faithful  dog  in  distress,  scraped  an  uncouth  bow  and  ab- 
ruptly turned  away,  brushing  the  tears  from  his  cheek 
with  his  sleeve,  and  hurrying,  to  relieve  his  choking  grief 
in  solitude.  She  stood  a  while,  again  absorbed  in  her 
own  reflection,  and  of  those  who  would  have  rushed  to 
speak  gentle  words  to  her,  and  uphold  her  with  tender 
hands,  had  she  wept  or  swooned,  there  was  none  who 
dared  approach  this  grief  that  gave  no  sign. 

In  a  short  time,  however,  she  seemed  to  recollect  her- 
self and  awaken  to  the  consciousness  of  the  many  watch- 
ing eyes. 

"Good  uncle,"  she  said,  going  up  to  the  old  man  and 
kissing  his  cheek,  after  sweeping  the  assembled  company 
with  dark,  thoughtful  gaze.  "Here  are  news  that  I 
should  have  expected  sooner — but  that  I  would  not  enter- 
tain the  thought.  It  has  come  upon  us  at  last,  the  fate 
of  the  others  ....  Andre  has  paid  his  debt  to  the  king, 
like  many  hundreds  of  true  people  before — though  none 
better.  He  has  now  his  reward.  I  glory  in  his  noble 
death,"  she  said  with  a  gleam  of  exaltation  in  her  eyes, 
then  added  after  a  pause,  between  clenched  teeth,  almost 
in  a  whisper  : 

"And  my  sister  too— she  too  is  with  him — but  I  will 
tell  you  of  it  later  ;  they  are  at  rest  now." 

Jovial  Sir  Thomas,  greatly  discomposed  and  fairly  at  a 
loss  how  to  deal   with  the   stricken    woman,   who    was 


DAY  DREAMS:   A  FAIR  EMISSARY       35 

so  unlike  any  womankind  he  had  ever  yet  come  across, 
patted  her  hand  in  silence,  placed  it  within  his  arm  and 
quietly  led  her  into  the  drawing-room,  rolling,  as  he  did 
so,  uneasy  eyes  upon  his  guests.  But  she  followed  the 
current  of  her  thoughts  as  her  little  feet  kept  pace  beside 
him. 

"That  is  bad — but  worse — the  worst  of  all,  the  cause 
of  God  and  king  is  again  crushed;  everything  to  begin 
afresh.  But,  for  the  present,  we" — here  she  looked  round 
the  room,  and  her  eyes  rested  an  instant  upon  a  group  of 
young  men,  who  were  surveying  her  from  a  corner  with 
mingled  admiration  and  awe — "  we,  that  is  Rene  and  I, 
have  work  to  do  in  this  country  before  we  return.  For 
you  will  keep  us  a  little  longer  ? "  she  added  with  an 
attempt  at  a  smile. 

"Will  I  keep  you  a  little  longer?"  exclaimed  the  squire 
hotly,  "  will  I  ever  let  you  go,  now  !  " 

She  shook  her  head  at  him,  with  something  of  her 
natural  archness.  Then,  turning  to  make  a  grave  curtsey 
to  the  circle  of  ladies  around  her  : 

"I  and  my  misfortune,"  she  said,  "have  kept  your 
company  and  your  dinner  waiting,  I  hardly  know  how 
long.      No  doubt,  in  their  kindness  they  will  forgive  me." 

And  accepting  again  her  uncle's  arm  which,  delighted 
at  the  solution  of  the  present  difficulty,  and  nodding  to 
Adrian  to  start  the  other  guests,  he  hastened  to  offer  her, 
she  preceded  the  rest  into  the  dining-hall  with  her  usual 
alert  bearing. 

The  behaviour  of  the  Countess  of  Savenaye,  had  affected 
the  various  spectators  in  various  ways.  The  male  sex, 
to  a  man,  extolled  her  fortitude  ;  the  ladies,  however,  con- 
demned such  unfeminine  strength  of  mind,  while  the 
more  charitable  prophesied  that  she  would  pay  dearly  for 
this  unnatural  repression.  And  the  whispered  remark  of 
one  of  the  prettier  and  younger  damsels,  that  the  loss  of 
a  husband  did  not  seem  to  crush  her,  at  any  rate,  met,  on 
the  whole,  with  covert  approval. 

As  for  Adrian,  who  shall  describe  the  tumult  of  his 
soul — the  regret,  the  hungering  over  her  in  her  sorrow, 
the  wild  unbidden  hopes  and  his  shame  of  them  ?  Care- 
ful of  what  his  burning  eyes  might  reveal,  he  hardly  dared 
raise  them  from  the  ground  ;  and  yet  to  keep  them  long 
from  her  face  was  an  utter  impossibility.     The  whispered 


36  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

commentsof  the  young  men  behind  him,  their  admiration, 
and  astonishment  drove  him  to  desperation.  And  the 
high-nosed  dowager,  whom  it  was  his  privilege  to  escort 
to  his  father's  table,  arose  from  it  convinced  that  Sir 
Thomas's  heir  had  lost  in  his  travels  the  few  poor  wits  he 
ever  possessed. 

The  dinner  that  evening  was  without  doubt  the  most 
dismal  meal  the  neighbourhood  had  ever  sat  down  to  at 
the  hospitable  board  of  Pulwick,  past  funeral  refections 
not  excepted.  The  host,  quite  taken  up  with  his  little 
foreign  relative,  had  words  only  for  her  ;  and  these,  in- 
deed, consisted  merely  in  fruitless  attempts  to  induce  her 
to  partake  largely  of  every  course — removes,  relieves, 
side-dishes,  joints,  as  their  separate  turn  came  round. 
Long  spells  of  silence  fell  upon  him  meantime,  which  he 
emphasised  by  lugubriously  clearing  his  throat.  Except 
for  the  pretty  courtesy  with  which  she  would  answer  him, 
she  remained  lost  in  her  own  thoughts — ever  and  anon 
consulting  the  letter  which  lay  beside  her  to  fall  again,  it 
seemed,  into  a  deeper  muse  ;  but  never  a  tear  glinted 
between  her  black  lashes. 

More  than  once  Adrian  from  his  distant  end  of  the 
table,  met  her  eyes,  fixed  on  him  for  a  moment,  and  the 
look,  so  full  of  mysterious  meanings  made  his  heart  beat 
in  anguish,  expecting  he  knew  not  what. 

Among  the  rest  of  the  assembly,  part  deference  to  a 
calamity  so  stoutly  borne,  part  amazement  at  such  strange 
ways,  part  discomfort  at  their  positions  as  feasters  in  the 
midst  of  mourning,  had  reduced  conversation  to  the 
merest  pretence.  The  ladies  were  glad  enough  when  the 
time  came  for  them  to  withdraw  ;  nor  did  most  of  the 
men  view  with  reluctance  a  moment  which  would  send 
the  decanters  gliding  freely  over  the  mahogany,  and  re- 
lieve them  from  this  unwonted  restraint. 

Madame  de  Savenaye  had,  however,  other  interests  in 
store  for  these  latter. 

She  rose  with  the  rest  of  the  ladies,  but  halted  at  the 
door,  and  laying  her  hand  upon  her  uncle's  arm,  said  an 
earnest  word  in  his  ear,  in  obedience  to  which  he  bundled 
out  his  daughters,  as  they  hung  back  politely,  closed  the 
door  upon  the  last  skirt,  and  reconducted  the  Countess 
to  the  head  of  the  table,  scratching  his  chin  in  some  per- 
plexity, but  ready  to  humour  her  slightest  whim. 


DAY  DREAMS:   A  FAIR  EMISSARY       37 

She  stood  at  her  former  place  and  looked  for  a  mo- 
ment in  silence  from  one  to  another  of  the  faces  turned 
with  different  expressions  of  astonishment  and  anticipa- 
tion towards  her — ruddy  faces  most  of  them,  youngs,  or 
old,  handsome  or  homely,  the  honest  English  stamp 
upon  each  ;  and  distinct  from  them  all,  Adrian's  pallid, 
thoughtful  features  and  his  ardent  eyes. 

Upon  him  her  gaze  rested  the  longest.  Then  with  a  little 
wave  of  her  hand  she  prayed  them  to  be  seated,  and 
waited  to  begin  her  say  until  the  wine  had  passed  round. 

"Gentlemen,"  then  quoth  she,  "with  my  good  uncle's 
permission  I  shall  read  you  the  letter  which  I  have  this 
iiight  received,  so  that  English  gentlemen  may  learn  how 
those  who  are  faithful  to  their  God  and  their  King  are 
being  dealt  with  in  my  country.  This  letter  is  from 
Monsieur  de  Puisaye,  one  of  the  most  active  partisans  of 
the  Royal  cause,  a  connection  of  the  ancient  house  of 
Savenaye.  And  he  begins  by  telling  me  of  the  un- 
expected reverses  sustained  by  our  men  so  close  upon 
their  successes  at  Chateau-Gonthier,  successes  that  had 
raised  our  loyal  hopes  so  high.  *The  most  crushing 
defeat,'  he  writes,  'has  taken  place  near  the  town  of 
Savenaye  itself,  on  your  own  estate,  and  your  historic 
house  is  now,  alas  !  in  ruins  ....  During  the  last  ob- 
stinate fight  your  husband  had  been  wounded,  but  after 
performing  prodigies  of  valour — such  as,  it  was  hoped  or 
trusted,  the  king  should  in  time  hear  of — he  escaped  from 
the  hands  of  his  enemies.  For  many  weeks  with  a  few 
hundred  followers  he  held  the  fields  in  the  Marais,  but 
he  was  at  last  hemmed  in  and  captured  by  one  of  the 
monster  Thureau's  Colonnes  Infernales,  those  hellish 
legions  with  an  account  of  whose  deeds,'  so  says  this 
gallant  gentleman  our  friend,  '  I  will  not  defile  my  pen, 
but  whose  boasts  are  like  those  of  Attila  the  Hun,  and 
who  in  their  malice  have  invented  obscene  tortures 
worthy  of   Iroquois  savages  for  all  who  fall  into   their 

clutches,  be  they  men,  women,  or  children But, 

by  Heaven's  mercy,  dear  Madame,'  says  M.  de  Puisaye 
to  me,  '  your  noble  husband  was  too  weak  to  afford  sport 
to  those  demons,  and  so  he  has  escaped  torment.  He 
was  hanged  with  all  speed  indeed,  for  fear  he  might  die 
first  of  his  toils  and  his  wounds,  and  so  defeat  them  at 
the  last."' 


38  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

A  rustling-  murmur  of  horror  and  indignation  went 
round  the  table ;  but  the  little  woman  faced  the  audience 
proudly. 

*'  He  died,"  she  said,  "  as  beseems  a  brave  man.  But 
this  is  not  all.  I  had  a  sister,  she  was  very  fair — like  me 
some  people  said,  in  looks — she  used  to  be  the  merry  one 
at  home  in  the  days  of  peace,"  she  gave  a  little  smile,  far 
more  piteous  than  tears  would  be — "  She  chose  to  remain 
among  her  people  when  they  were  fighting,  to  help  the 
wounded,  the  sick,"  Here  IVIadame  de  Savenaye  paused 
a  moment  and  put  down  the  letter  from  which  she  had 
been  reading  ;  for  the  first  time  since  she  had  begun  to 
speak  she  grew  pale  ;  knitting  her  black  brows  and  with 
downcast  eyes  she  went  on  :  "  Monsieur  de  Puisaye  says 
he  asks  my  pardon  humbly  on  his  knees  for  writing  such 
tidings  to  me,  bereaved  as  I  am  of  all  I  hold  dear,  but 
'it  is  meet,'  he  says,  'that  the  civilised  world  should 
know  the  deeds  these  followers  of  liberty  and  enlighten- 
mefit  have  wrought  upon  gallant  men  and  highborn 
ladies,'  and  I  hold  that  he  says  well." 

She  flashed  once  more  her  black  gaze  round  upon  the 
men,  who  with  heads  all  turned  towards  her  and  forget- 
ting their  wine,  hung  upon  her  words.  "It  is  right  that 
I  should  know,  and  you  too  !  It  is  meet  that  such  deeds 
should  be  made  known  to  the  world  :  my  sister  was  taken 
by  these  men,  but  less  fortunate  than  my  husband  she 
had  life  enough  left  for  torture — she  too  is  dead  now  ;  ]\I. 
de  Puisaye  adds  :  Thank  God  !  And  that  is  all  that  I  can 
say  too — Thank  God  !  " 

There  was  a  dead  silence  in  the  room  as  she  ceased 
speaking,  broken  at  last,  here  and  there,  along  the  table 
by  exclamations  and  groans  and  a  deep  execration  from  Sir 
Thomas,  which  was  echoed  deep-mouthed  by  his  guests. 

Adrian  himself,  the  pacific,  the  philosopher,  with  both 
arms,  stretched  out  on  the  table,  clenched  his  hands,  and 
set  his  teeth  and  gazed  into  space  with  murderous  looks. 

Then  the  clear  young  voice  went  on  again  : 

"  You,  who  have  honoured  mothers  and  wives  of  your 
own,  and  have  young  sweethearts,  or  sisters  or  dauglUers 
— you  English  gentlemen  who  love  to  see  justice,  how 
long  will  you  allow  such  things  to  be  done  while  you 
have  arms  to  strike  ?  We  are  not  beaten  yet ;  there  are 
French  hearts  still  left  that  will  be  up  and  doing  so  long 


DAY  DREAMS:   A  FAIR  EMISSARY       39 

as  they  have  a  drop  of  blood  to  shed.  Our  gallant  Bre- 
tons and  Vendeens  are  uniting  once  more,  our  emigres 
are  collecting,  but  we  want  aid,  brave  English  friends,  we 
want  arms,  money,  soldiers.  My  task  lies  to  my  hand  ; 
the  sacred  legacy  of  my  dead  I  have  accepted  ;  is  there 
any  of  you  here  who  will  help  the  widow  to  maintain 
the  fight  ?  " 

She  had  risen  to  her  feet ;  the  blood  glowed  on  her 
cheek  as  she  concluded  her  appeal ;  a  thousand  stars 
danced  in  her  eyes. 

Old  men  and  young  they  leapt  up,  with  a  roar  ;  press- 
ing round  her,  pouring  forth  acclamations,  asseverations 
and  oaths— Would  they  help  her?  By  God — they  would 
die  for  her — Never  had  the  old  rafters  of  Pulwick  rung  to 
such  enthusiasm. 

And  when  with  proud  smiles  and  crimsoned  face  she 
withdraws  at  last  from  so  much  ardour,  the  door  has 
scarcely  fallen  behind  her  before  Sir  Thomas  proposes  her 
health  in  a  bellow,  that  trembles  upon  tears  : 

"Gentlemen,  this  lady's  courage  is  such  as  might  put 
most  men's  strength  to  shame.  Here  is,  gentlemen,  to 
Madame  de  Savenaye  !  " 

And  she,  halting  on  the  stairs  for  a  moment,  to  still  her 
high-beating  heart,  before  she  lay  her  babe  against  it, 
hears  the  toast  honoured  with  three  times  three. 

When  the  Lancastrian  ladies  had  succeeded  at  length 
in  collecting  and  carrying  off  such  among  the  hiccupping 
husbands,  and  maudlin  sons,  who  were  able  to  move,  Sir 
Thomas  re-entering  the  hall,  after  speeding  the  last  de- 
parting chariot,  and  prudently  leaning  upon  his  tall  son 
— for  though  he  had  a  seasoned  head  the  night's  potations 
had  been  deep  and  fiery — was  startled  well-nigh  into 
soberness,  at  the  sight  of  his  niece  waiting  for  him  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairs. 

"Why,  Cis,  my  love,  we  thought  you  had  been  in  bed 
this  long  while  !  why — where  have  you  been  then  since 
you  ran  away  from  the  dining-room  ?  By  George  ! " 
chuckling,  "  the  fellows  were  mad  to  get  another  glimpse 
of  you  !  " 

His  bloodshot  eye  hung  over  her  fondly.  There  was 
not  a  trace  of  fatigue  upon  that  delicate,  pretty  face. 

"I  wanted  to  think — I  have  much  to  think  on  now.     I 


40  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

have  had  to  read  and  ponder  upoai  my  instructions  here," 
— tapping  her  teeth  with  the  letter,  she  still  carried, 
"Good  uncle,  I  would  speak  with  you — yes,  even  now," 
quick  to  notice  Adrian's  slight  frown  of  disapproval  (poor 
fellow,  he  was  sober  enough  at  any  rate  !),  "  there  is  no 
time  like  the  present.  I  have  my  work  to  do,  and  I  shall 
not  rest  to-night,  till  I  have  planned  it  in  my  head." 

Surely  the  brilliancy  of  those  eyes  was  feverish  ;  the 
little  hands  she  laid  upon  them  to  draw  them  into  the  dim- 
lit  library  were  hot  as  fire. 

"  Why,  yes,  my  pretty,"  quoth  the  good  uncle,  stifling 
a  portentous  yawn,  and  striving  to  look  wondrous  wise, 
"Adrian,  she  wants  to  consult  me,  sir,  hie  !  " 

He  fell  into  an  armchair  as  he  spoke,  and  she  sank  on 
her  knees  beside  him,  the  firelight  playing  upon  her  eager 
face,  while  Adrian,  in  the  shadow,  watched. 

"Do  you  think,"  she  asked  of  the  old  man,  eagerly, 
"that  these  gentlemen,  who  spoke  so  kindly  to  me  a 
few  hours  ago,  will  be  as  much  in  earnest  in  the  morning?  " 

' '  Why  d — n  them  !  if  they  go  back  on  their  word,  I'll  call 
them  out  !  "  thundered  Sir  Thomas,  in  a  great  rage  all  of 
a  sudden.  She  surveyed  him  inquiringly,  and  shot  a  swift 
keen  glance  from  the  placid,  bulky  figure  in  the  chair,  to 
Adrian  pale  and  erect,  behind  it,  then  rose  to  her  feet 
and  stood  a  few  paces  off,  as  it  were  pondering. 

"  What  is  now  required  of  me — I  have  been  thinking  it 
well  over,"  she  said  at  last,  "  can  hardly  be  achieved  by  a 
woman  alone.  And  yet,  with  proper  help  and  support, 
I  think  I  could  do  more  than  any  man  by  himself.  There 
is  that  in  a  woman's  entreaties  which  will  win,  when  a 
man  may  fail.  But  I  must  have  a  knight  at  my  side  ;  a 
protector,  at  the  same  time  as  a  faithful  servant.  These 
are  not  the  times  to  stand  on  conventional  scruples.  Do 
you  think,  among  these  gentlemen,  any  could  be  found 
with  sufficient  enthusiasm,  for  the  Royal  cause,  here 
represented  by  me,  to  attend,  and  support  me  through  all 
the  fatigues,  the  endless  errands,  the  interviews — ay,  also 
the  rebuffs,  the  ridicule  at  times,  perhaps  the  danger  of 
the  conjuration,  which  must  be  set  on  foot  in  this  country 
— to  do  all  that,  without  hope  of  other  reward  than  the 
consciousness  of  helping  a  good  cause,  and — and  the 
gratitude  of  one,  who  may  have  nothing  else  to  give?  " 

She  stopped  with  a  little  nervous   laugh:   "No,   it  is 


DAY  DREAMS:   A  FAIR  EMISSARY       41 

absurd!  no  man,  on  reflection  would  enter  into  such  a 
service  unless  it  were  for  his  own  country." 

As  the  last  words  fell  from  her  lips,  she  suddenly  turned 
to  Adrian  and  met  his  earnest  gaze. 

"Or  for  his  kindred,"  said  the  young  man,  coming-  up 
to  her  with  grave  simplicity,   "if  his  kindred  required  it." 

A  gleam  of  satisfaction  passed  across  her  face.  The 
father,  who  had  caught  her  meaning — sharp  enough,  as 
some  men  can  be  in  their  cups — nodded  his  head  with 
great  vigour. 

"Yes,  why  should  you  think  first  of  strangers,"  he 
grumbled,  "when  you  have  your  own  blood,  to  stand  by 
you — blood  is  thicker  than  water,  ain't  it  ?  Am  I  too  old, 
or  is  he  too  young,  to  wait  on  you — hey,  madam  ?  " 

She  extended  her  hand,  allowing  it  to  linger  in  Adrian's 
grasp,  whilst  she  laid  the  other  tenderly  on  the  old  man's 
shoulder. 

"  My  good  uncle  I  my  kind  cousin  1  Have  I  the  choice 
already  between  two  such  cavaliers?  I  am  fortunate 
indeed  in  my  misfortune.  In  other  circumstances  to 
decide  would  be  difficult  between  two  men,  each  so 
good;  but,"  she  added,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  and 
looking  at  Adrian  in  a  manner  that  made  the  young  man's 
heart  beat  thickly,  "  in  this  case  it  is  obvious  I  must  have 
some  one  whom  I  need  not  fear  to  direct." 

"Ay,  ay,"  muttered  the  baronet,  "I'd  go  with  you, 
my  darling,  to  the  world's  end  ;  but  there's  that  young 
philosopher  of  mine  breaking  his  heart  for  you.  And 
when  all's  said  and  done,  it's  the  young  fellow  that'll 
be  the  most  use  to  you,  I  reckon.  Ay,  you've  chosen 
already,  I'll  be  bound.  The  gouty  old  man  had  best  stop 
at  home.  Ho,  ho,  ho  !  You've  the  luck,  Adrian  ;  more 
luck  than  you  deserve." 

"  It  is  I  who  have  more  luck  than  I  deserve,"  answered 
Madame  de  Savenaye,  smiling  upon  her  young  knight  as, 
taking  heart  of  grace,  he  stooped  to  seal  the  treaty  upon 
her  hand.  "To  say  the  truth,  I  had  hoped  for  this,  yet 
hardly  dared  to  allow  myself  to  count  upon  it.  And 
really,  uncle,  you  give  your  own  son  to  my  cause.'' — and 
you,  cousin,  you  are  willing  to  work  for  me?  I  am  in- 
deed strengthened  at  the  outset  of  my  undertaking.  I 
shall  pray  that  you  may  never  have  cause  to  regret  your 
chivalrous  goodness." 


42  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

She  dropped  Adrian's  hand  with  a  faint  pressure,  and 
moved  sighing  towards  the  door. 

"Do  you  wonder  that  I  have  no  tears,  cousin  ?  "  she 
said,  a  little  wistfully;  "they  must  gather  in  my  heart 
till  I  have  time  to  sit  down  and  shed  them." 

Thus  it  was  that  a  letter  penned  by  this  unknown  M.  de 
Puisaye  from  some  hidden  fastness  in  the  Bocage  of 
Brittany  came  to  divert  the  course  of  Adrian  Landale's 
existence  into  a  channel  where  neither  he,  nor  any  of 
those  who  knew  him,  would  ever  have  dreamed  to  see  it 
drift. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   AWAKENING 

Oh,  what  hadst  thou  to  do  with  cruel  Death, 
Who  wast  so  full  of  life,  or  Death  with  thee  ? 

Longfellow. 

Sir  Adrian  Landale,  in  his  sea-girt  fastness,  still  ab- 
sorbed in  dreams  of  bygone  days,  loosed  his  grasp  of  faith- 
ful Rene's  shoulder  and  fell  to  pacing  the  chamber  with 
sombre  mien  ;  while  Rene,  to  whom  these  fits  of  abstrac- 
tion in  his  master  were  not  unfamiliar,  but  yet  to  his 
superstitious  peasant  soul,  eerie  and  awe-inspiring  visita- 
tions, slipped  unnoticed  from  his  presence. 

The  light-keeper  sate  down  by  his  lonely  hearth  and 
buried  his  gaze  in  the  glowing  wood-embers,  over  which, 
with  each  fitful  thundering  rush  of  wind  round  the 
chimney,  fluttered  little  eddies  of  silvery  ash. 

So,  that  long  strife  was  over,  which  had  wrought  such 
havoc  to  the  world,  had  shaped  so  dismally  the  course  of 
his  own  life  !  The  monster  of  selfish  ambition,  the  tyran- 
nic, insatiable  conqueror  whose  very  existence  had  so 
long  made  peaceable  pursuits  unprofitable  to  mankind, 
the  final  outcome  of  that  Revolution  that,  at  the  starting 
point,  had  boded  so  nobly  for  human  welfare — he  was  at 
last  laid  low,  and  all  the  misery  of  the  protracted  struggle 
now  belonged  to  the  annals  of  the  past. 

It  was  all  over — but  the  waste  !  The  waste  of  life  and 
happiness,  far  and  wide  away  among  innocent  and  un- 
interested beings,  the  waste  remained. 

And,  looking  back  on  it,  the  most  bitter  portion  of  his 
own  wrecked  life  was  the  short  time  he  had  yet  thought 
happy  ;  three  months,  spent  as  knight-errant. 

How  far  they  seemed,  far  as  irrevocable  youth,  those 
days  when,  in  the  wake  of  that  love-compelling  emissary, 
he  moved  from  intrigue  to  intrigue  among  the  emigres  in 

43 


44  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

London,  and  their  English  sympathisers,  to  bustling  yet 
secret  activity  in  seafaring  parts  ! 

The  mechanical  instrument  directed  by  the  ingenious 
mind  of  Ce'cile  de  Savenaye  ;  the  discreet  minister  who, 
for  all  his  young  years,  secured  the  help  of  some  impor- 
tant political  sympathiser  one  day,  scoured  the  country 
for  arms  and  clothing,  powder  and  assignats  another; 
who  treated  with  smuggling  captains  and  chartered  vessels 
that  were  to  run  the  gauntlet  on  the  Norman  and  Breton 
coast,  and  supply  the  means  of  war  to  struggling  and  un- 
daunted loyalists.  All  this  relentless  work,  little  suited, 
on  the  whole,  to  an  Englishman,  and  in  a  cause  the  rights 
of  which  he  himself  had,  up  to  then,  refused  to  admit, 
was  then  repaid  a  hundredfold  by  a  look  of  gratitude,  of 
pleasure  even,  a  few  sweet  moments  of  his  lady's  com- 
pany, before  being  sent  hence  again  upon  some  fresh 
enterprise. 

Ah,  how  he  loved  her  !  He,  the  youth  on  the  thresh- 
old of  manhood,  who  had  never  known  passion  before, 
how  he  loved  this  young  widowed  mother  who  used  him 
as  a  man  to  deal  for  her  with  men,  yet  so  loftily  treated 
him  as  aboy  whenshedealt  with  him  herself.  And  if  he 
loved  her  in  the  earlier  period  of  his  thraldom,  when 
scarce  would  he  see  her  one  hour  in  the  twenty-four,  to 
what  all-encompassing  fervour  did  the  bootless  passion 
rise  when,  the  day  of  departure  having  dawned  and  sunk, 
he  found  himself  on  board  the  privateer,  sailing  away 
with  her  towards  unknown  warlike  ventures,  her  knight 
to  protect  her,  her  servant  to  obey  ! 

On  all  these  things  mused  the  recluse  of  Scarthey,  sink- 
ing deeper  and  deeper  into  the  past :  the  spell  of  haunting 
recollection  closing  on  him  as  he  sat  by  his  hearthside, 
whilst  the  increasing  fury  of  the  gale  toiled  and  troubled 
outside  fighting  the  impassable  walls  of  his  tower. 

Could  it  have  been  possible  that  she — the  only  woman 
that  had  ever  existed  for  him,  the  love  for  whom  had  so 
distorted  his  mind  from  its  natural  sympathies,  had  killed 
in  him  the  spring  of  youth  and  the  savour  of  life — never 
really  learnt  to  love  him  in  return  till  the  last .-' 

And  yet  there  was  a  woman's  soul  in  that  delicious 
woman's  body — it  showed  itself  at  least  once,  though 
until  that  supreme  moment  of  union  and  parting,  it 
seemed  as  if  a  man's  mind  alone  governed  it,  becoming 


THE  AWAKENING  45 

sterner,  more  unbendable,  as  hardships  and  difficulties 
multiplied. 

In  the  melancholy  phantasm  passing-  before  his  mind's 
eye,  of  a  period  of  unprecedented  bloodshed  and  savagery, 
when  on  the  one  side  Chouans,  Vend^ens,  and  such 
guerillas  of  which  Madame  de  Savenaye  was  the  moving 
spirit,  and  on  the  other  the  colonnes  in/ernales  of  the 
revolutionary  leaders,  vied  with  each  other  in  ferocity  and 
cunning,  she  stood  ever  foremost,  ever  the  central  point 
of  thought,  with  a  vividness  that  almost  a  score  of  years 
had  failed  to  dim. 

When  the  mood  was  upon  him,  he  could  unfold  the 
roll  of  that  story  buried  now  in  the  lonely  graves  of  the 
many,  or  in  the  fickle  memories  of  the  few,  but  upon  his 
soul  printed  in  letters  of  fire  and  blood — to  endure  for 
ever. 

Round  this  goddess  of  his  young  and  only  love  clustered 
the  sole  impressions  of  the  outer  world  that  had  ever 
stirred  his  heart  :  the  grandeur  of  the  ocean,  of  the  storm, 
the  glory  of  sunrise  over  a  dishevelled  sea,  the  ineffable 
melancholy  of  twilight  rising  from  an  unknown  strand  ; 
then  the  solemn  coldness  of  moonlight  watches,  the  scent 
of  the  burnt  land  under  the  fierce  sun,  when  all  nature 
was  hushed  save  the  dreamy  buzz  of  insect-life  :  the  green 
coolness  of  underwood  or  forest,  the  unutterable  harmony 
of  the  sighing  breeze,  and  the  song  of  wild  birds  during 
the  long  patient  ambushes  of  partisan  war  ;  the  taste  of 
bread  in  hunger,  of  the  stream  in  the  fever  of  thirst,  of 
approaching  sleep  in  exhaustion — and,  mixed  with  these, 
the  acrid  emotions  of  fight  and  carnage,  anguish  of  sus- 
pense, savage  exultation  of  victory — all  the  doings  of  a 
life  which  he,  bred  to  intellectual  pleasures  and  high 
moral  ideas,  would  have  deemed  a  nightmare,  but  which, 
lived  as  it  was  in  the  atmosphere  of  his  longing  and  de- 
votion, yet  held  for  him  a  strange  and  pungent  joy  :  a 
cup  of  cruel  memories,  yet  one  to  be  lingered  over  luxu- 
riously till  the  savour  of  each  cherished  drop  of  bitterness 
be  gathered  to  the  uttermost. 

Now,  in  the  brightness  of  the  embers,  between  the 
fitful  flames  of  crumbling  wood,  spreads  before  his  eyes 
the  dreary  strand  near  Quiberon,  immense  in  the  gathering 
darkness  of  a  boisterous  evening.  Well  hidden  under  the 
stone  table  of  a  Druidical  men-hir  glows  a  small  camp-fire 


46  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

sedulously  kept  alive  by  Rene  for  the  service  of  The  Lady. 
She,  wrapped  up  in  a  coarse  peasant-cloak,  pensively 
gazes  into  the  cheerless  smoke  and  holds  her  worn  and 
muddy  boots  to  the  smouldering  wood  in  the  vain  hope 
of  warmth. 

And  Adrian  stands  silently  behind  her,  brooding  on 
many  things — on  the  vicissitudes  of  that  desultory  war 
which  has  left  them  not  a  roof  whereunder  they  can  lay 
their  heads,  durmg  which  the  little  English  contingent 
has  melted  from  them  one  by  one  ;  on  the  critical  action 
of  the  morrow  when  the  republican  columns,  now  hasten- 
ing to  oppose  the  landing  of  the  great  royalist  expedi- 
tion to  Quiberon  (that  supreme  effort  upon  which  all  their 
hopes  centre)  must  be  surprised  and  cut  off  at  whatever 
cost  ;  on  the  mighty  doings  to  follow,  which  are  to  com- 
plete the  result  of  the  recent*  sea  fight  off  Ushant  and 
crown  their  devoted  toil  with  victory  at  last.   .   .   . 

And  through  his  thoughts  he  watches  the  pretty  foot,  in 
its  hideous  disguise  of  patched,  worn,  ill-fitting  leather, 
and  he  sees  it  as  on  the  first  day  of  their  meeting,  in  its 
gleaming  slipper  and  dainty  silken  stocking. 

Now  and  then  an  owl-cry,  repeated  from  point  to  point, 
tells  of  unremitting  guard,  but  for  which,  in  the  vast 
silence,  none  could  suspect  that  a  thousand  men  and 
more  are  lying  stretched  upon  the  plain  all  around  them, 
fireless,  well-nigh  without  food,  yet  patiently  waiting  for 
the  morrow  when  their  chiefs  shall  lead  them  to  death  ; 
nor  that,  in  a  closer  circle,  within  call,  are  some  fifty  ^ars, 
remnant  of  the  indomitable  "Savenaye  band,"  and  tacitly 
sworn  bodyguard  to  The  Lady  who  came  back  from  ease 
and  safety  over  seas  to  share  their  peril. 

No  sound  besides,  but  the  wind  as  it  whistles  and  moans 
over  the  heath — and  the  two  are  together  in  the  mist 
which  comes  closing  in  upon  them  as  if  to  shroud  them 
from  all  the  rest,  for  even  Rene  has  crept  away,  to  sleep 
perhaps. 

.She  turns  at  last  towards  him,  her  small  face  in  the 
dying  light  of  this  sullen  evening,  how  wan  and  weather- 
beaten  ! 

"Pensive,  as  usual,  cousin  ?"  she  says  in  English,  and 
extends  her  hand,  browned  and  scratched,  that  was  once 
so  exquisite,  and  she  smiles,  the  smile  of  a  dauntless  soul 
from  a  weary  body. 


THE  AWAKENING  47 

Poor  little  hands,  poor  little  feet,  so  cold,  so  battered, 
so  ill-used  !  He,  who  would  have  warmed  them  in  his 
bosom,  given  his  heart  for  them  to  tread  upon,  breaks 
down  now,  for  the  first  time  ;  and  falling-  on  his  knees 
covers  the  cold  fingers  with  kisses,  and  then  lays  his  lips 
against  those  pitiful  torn  boots. 

But  she  spurns  him  from  her — even  from  her  feet  : 

"Shame  on  you  !  "  she  says  angrily  ;  and  adds,  more 
gently,  yet  with  some  contempt:  ''Enfant,  va  ! — is  this 
the  time  for  such  follies?" 

And,  suddenly  recalled  to  honour  and  grim  actuality, 
he  realises  with  dismay  his  breach  of  trust — he,  who  in 
their  earlier  days  in  London  had  called  out  that  sprightly 
little  Emigre  merely  for  the  vulgar  flippancy  (aimed  in  com- 
pliment, too,  at  the  grave  aide-de-camp),  "that  the  fate 
of  the  late  Count  weighed  somewhat  lightly  upon  Madame 
de  Savenaye  ; "  he,  who  had  struck  that  too  literary 
countryman  of  his  own  across  the  face — ay,  and  shot  him 
in  the  shoulder,  all  in  the  secret  early  dawn  of  the  day 
they  left  England — for  daring  to  remark  within  his  hear- 
ing :  "By  George,  the  handsome  Frenchwoman  and  her 
cousin  may  be  a  little  less  than  kin,  but  they  are  a  little 
more  than  kind." 

But  yet,  as  the  rage  of  love  contending  in  his  heart  with 
self-reproach,  he  rises  to  his  feet  in  shame,  she  gives  him 
her  hand  once  more,  and  in  a  different  voice  : 

"Courage,  cousin,"  says  she,  "  perhaps  some  day  we 
may  both  have  our  reward.  But  will  not  my  knight 
continue  to  fight  for  my  bidding,  even  without  hope  of 
such .?  " 

Pondering  on  this  enigmatic  sentence  he  leaves  her  to 
her  rest. 

When  next  he  finds  himself  by  her  side  the  anticipated 
action  has  begun  ;  and  it  is  to  be  the  last  day  that  those 
beautiful  burning  eyes  shall  see  the  glory  of  the  rising  sun. 

The  Chouansare  fighting  like  demons,  extended  in  long 
skirmishing  lines,  picking  out  the  cluster  of  gunners, 
making  right  deadly  use  of  their  English  powder  ;  imper- 
ceptibly but  unflinchingly  closing  their  scattered  groups 
until  the  signal  comes  and  with  ringing  cries  :  ''Notre 
Dame  d Auray  r'  and  "  Vive  le  roil  "  they  charge,  undis- 
mayed by  odds,  the  serried  ranks  of  the  Repubficans. 


48  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

She,  from  the  top  of  the  druidical  stone,  watches  the 
progress  of  the  day.  Her  red,  parted  mouth  twitches  as 
she  follows  the  efforts  of  the  men.  Behind  her,  the  ^ors 
of  Savenaye,  grasping-  with  angry  clutch,  some  a  new 
musket,  others  an  ancient  straightened  scythe,  gaze 
fiercely  on  the  scene  from  under  their  broad  felts.  Now 
and  then  a  flight  of  republican  bullets  hum  about  their 
ears,  and  they  look  anxiously  to  Their  Lady,  but  that 
fearless  head  never  bends. 

Then  the  moment  arrives,  and  with  a  fervent,  "  God  be 
with  you,  brave  people,"  she  hurls,  by  a  stirring  gesture, 
the  last  reserve  on  to  the  fight. 

And  now  he  finds  himself  in  the  midst  of  the  furious 
medley,  striking  mechanically,  his  soul  away  behind  on 
that  stone,  with  her.  Presently,  as  the  frenzy  waxes 
wilder,  he  is  conscious  that  victory  is  not  with  them,  but 
that  they  are  pressed  back  and  encompassed,  and  that  for 
each  blue  coat  cast  down  amidst  the  yells  and  oaths,  two 
more  seem  to  come  out  of  the  rain  and  smoke  ;  whilst  the 
bare  feet  and  wooden  shoes  and  the  longhair  of  his  peas- 
ants are  seen  in  ever-lessening  ranks.  And,  in  time,  they 
find  themselves  thrown  back  to  the  men-hir  ;  she  is  there, 
still  calm  but  ghastly  white,  a  pistol  in  each  hand. 
Around  her,  through  the  wet  smoke,  rise  and  fall  with 
sickening  thuds  the  clubbed  muskets  of  threeor  four  men, 
and  then  one  by  one  these  sink  to  the  ground  too.  With 
a  wailing  groan  like  a  man  in  a  nightmare,  he  sees  the 
inevitable  end  and  rushes  to  place  his  body  before  hers.  A 
bullet  shatters  his  sword-blade  ;  now  none  are  left  around 
them  but  the  begrimed  and  sinister  faces  of  their  enemies. 

As  they  stand  prisoners,  and  unheeding  the  hideous 
clamour,  he,  with  despair  thinking  of  her  inevitable  fate 
at  the  hands  of  such  victors,  and  scarcely  daring  to  look 
at  her,  suddenly  sees  that  in  her  eyes  which  fills  his  soul 
to  overflowinor. 

"All  is  lost,"  she  whispers,  "and  I  shall  never  repay 
you  for  all  you  have  done,  cousin  !  " 

The  words  arc  uttered  falteringly,  almost  plaintively. 

"We  are  not  long  now  for  this  world,  friend,"  she  adds 
more  firmly.      "  Give  me  your  forgiveness." 

How  often  has  Adrian  heard  this  dead  voice  during  the 
strange  vicissitudes  of  these  long,  long  years  !  And, 
hearing  it  whisper  in  the  vivid  world  of  his  brain,  how 


THE  AWAKENING  49 

often  has  he  not  passionately  longed  that  he  also  had 
been  able  to  yield  his  poor  spark  of  life  on  the  last  day  of 
her  existence. 

For  the  usual  fate  of  Chouan  prisoners  swiftly  over- 
takes the  surviving  leaders  of  the  Savenaye  "  band  of 
brigands,"  as  that  doughty  knot  of  loyalists  was  termed 
by  their  arch-enemy,  Thureau. 

A  long  journey  towards  the  nearest  town,  in  an  open 
cart,  under  the  pitiless  rain,  amidst  a  crowd  of  evil-smell- 
ing, blaspheming,  wounded  republicans,  who,  when  a 
more  cruel  jolt  than  usual  awakens  their  wounds,  curse 
the  woman  in  words  that  should  have  drawn  avenging 
bolts  from  heaven.  She  sits  silent,  lofty,  tearless  ;  but 
her  eyes,  when  they  are  not  lost  in  the  grey  distance,  ever 
wistfully  seek  his  face. 

The  day  is  drawing  to  a  close  ;  they  reach  their  goal, 
a  miserable,  grey,  draggled  town  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Vilaine,  and  are  roughly  brought  before  the  arbiter  of  their 
lives — Thureau  himself,  the  monstrous  excrescence  of  the 
times,  who,  like  Marat  and  Carrier,  sees  nothing  in  the 
new  freedom  but  a  free  opening  for  the  lowest  instincts 
of  ferocity. 

And  before  this  monstrous  beast,  bedizened  in  his 
general's  frippery,  in  a  reeking  tavern-room,  stand  the 
noble  lady  of  Savenaye  and  the  young  heir  of  Pulwick. 

The  ruffian's  voice  rings  with  laughter  as  he  gazes  on 
the  silent  youthful  pair. 

"  Aha,  what  have  we  here  ;  a  couple  of  drowned  rats? 
or  have  we  trapped  you  at  last,  the  ci-devant  Savenaye 
and  her  godam  from  England.?  I  ought  really  to  send 
you  as  a  present  to  the  Convention,  but  I  am  too  soft- 
hearted, you  see,  my  pigeons  ;  and  so,  to  save  time  and 
make  sure,  we  will  marry  you  to-day." 

One  of  the  officers  whispers  some  words  in  his  ear, 
which  Thureau,  suddenly  growing  purple  with  rage, 
denies  with  a  foul  oath  and  an  emphatic  thump  of  his 
huge  fist  on  the  table. 

"Hoche  has  forbidden  it,  has  he.?  Hoche  does  not 
command  here.  Hoche  has  not  had  to  hunt  down  the 
brigands  these  last  two  years.  Dead  the  beast,  dead  the 
venom,  I  say.  And  here  is  the  order,"  scribbling  hur- 
riedly on  a  page  torn  from  a  pocket-book.  "  It  shall  not 
be  said  that  I  have  had  the  bitch  of  Savenaye  in  my 
4 


50  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

hands  and  trusted  her  on  the  road  again.  Hoche  has 
forbidden  it  !  Call  the  cantineer  and  hop  :  the  marriage 
and  quick — the  soup  waits." 

Unable  to  understand  the  hidden  meaning  of  the  order, 
Adrian  looks  at  his  lady  askance,  to  find  that,  with  eyes 
closed  upon  the  sight  of  the  grinning  faces,  she  is  whisper- 
ing prayers  and  fervently  crossing  herself.  When  she 
turns  to  him  again  her  face  is  almost  serene. 

"They  are  going  to  drown  us  together;  that  is  their 
republican  marriage  of  aristocrats,"  she  says  in  soft  Eng- 
lish. "  I  had  feared  worse.  Thank  heaven  there  is  no 
time  now  for  worse.  We  shall  be  firm  to  the  last,  shall 
we  not,  cousin  .-'  " 

There  is  a  pathetic  smile  on  her  worn  weather-stained 
face,  as  the  cantineer  and  a  corporal  enter  with  ropes  and 
proceed  to  pinion  the  prisoners. 

But,  as  they  are  marched  away  once  more  under  the 
slanting  rain,  are  forced  into  a  worn-out  boat  and  lashed 
face  to  face,  her  fortitude  melts  apace. 

"There,  my  turtle-doves,"  sneers  the  truculent  cor- 
poral, "another  kindness  of  the  general.  The  Nantes 
way  is  back  to  back,  but  he  thought  it  would  amuse  you 
to  see  each  other's  grimaces." 

On  the  strand  resounds  the  muffled  roll  of  wet  drums, 
announcing  the  execution  of  national  justice  ;  with  one 
blow  of  an  axe  the  craft  is  scuttled  ;  a  push  from  a  gaff 
sends  it  spinning  on  the  swift  swollen  waters  into  the 
estuary.  Adrian's  lips  are  on  her  forehead,  but  she  lifts 
her  face  ;  her  eyes  now  are  haggard. 

"Adrian,"  she  sobs,  "  you  have  forgiven  me?  I  have 
your  death  on  my  soul !  Oh,  Adrian,  ....  I  could  have 
loved  you  !  " 

Helpless  and  palsied  by  the  merciless  ropes,  she  tries 
passionately  to  reach  her  little  mouth  to  his.  A  stream 
of  fire  rushes  through  his  brain — maddening  frenzy  of  re- 
gret, furious  clinging  to  escaping  life  ! — Their  lips  have 
met,  but  the  sinking  craft  is  full,  and,  with  a  sudden  lurch, 

falls  beneath  the  eddies A   last  roll  of  the  drums, 

and  the  pinioned  bodies  of  these  lovers  of  a  few  seconds 
are  silently  swirling  under  the  waters  of  the  Vilaine. 

And  now  the  end  of  this  poor  life  has  come — with  heart- 
breaking sorrow  of  mind  and  struggle  of  body,  over- 
powering horror  at  the  writhings  of  torture  in  the  limbs 


THE  AWAKENING  51 

lashed  against  his — and  vainly  he  strives  to  force  his  last 
breath  into  her  hard-clenched  mouth. 

Such  was  the  end  of  Adrian  Landale,  aged  twenty — the 
end  that  should  have  been — The  pity  that  it  was  not  per- 
mitted ! 

After  the  pangs  of  unwelcome  death,  the  misery  of  un- 
welcome return  to  life.  Oh,  Rene,  Rene,  too  faithful 
follower  ;  thou  and  the  other  true  men  who,  heedless  of 
danger,  hanging  on  the  flanks  of  the  victorious  enemy, 
never  ceased  to  watch  your  lady  from  afar.  You  would 
have  saved  her,  could  courage  and  faithfulness  and  cun- 
ning have  availed  !  But,  since  she  was  dead,  Ren^, 
would  thou  hadst  left  us  to  drift  on  to  the  endless  sea  ! 
How  often  have  I  cursed  thee,  good  friend,  who  staked 
thy  life  in  the  angry  bore  to  snatch  two  spent  bodies  from 
its  merciless  tossing.  It  was  not  to  be  endured,  said  you, 
that  the  remains  of  the  Lady  of  Savenaye  should  drift 
away  unheeded,  to  be  devoured  by  the  beasts  of  the  sea  ! 
They  now  repose  in  sacred  ground,  and  I  live  on  !  Oh, 
hadst  thou  but  reached  us  a  minute  later  ! — ah,  God,  or  a 
minute  earlier  ! 

Rarely  had  Sir  Adrian's  haunting  visions  of  the  past 
assumed  such  lurid  reality.  Rising  in  torment  from  the 
hearth  to  pace  unceasingly  the  length  and  breadth  of  the 
restful,  studious  room,  so  closely  secure  from  the  outer 
turmoil  of  heaven  and  earth,  he  is  once  more  back  in 
the  unknown  sea-cave,  in  front  of  the  angry  breakers. 
Slowly,  agonisingly,  he  is  recalled  to  life  through  wheehng 
spaces  of  pain  and  confusion,  only  that  his  bruised  and 
smarting  eyes  may  see  the  actual  proof  of  his  own 
desolateness — a  small,  stark  figure  wrapped  in  coarse 
sailcloth,  which  now  two  or  three  ragged,  long-haired 
men  are  silently  lifting  between  them. 

He  wonders,  at  first,  vaguely,  why  the  tears  course 
down  those  wild,  dark  faces  ;  and  then,  as  vainly  he 
struggles  to  speak,  and  is  gently  held  down  by  some 
unknown  hand,  the  little  white  bundle  is  gone,  and  he 
knows  that  there  was  the  pitiful  relict  of  his  love — that  he 
will  never  see  her  again  ! 


Sir  Adrian  halted  in  front  of  his  seaward  window,  staring 
at  the  driven  rain,  which  bounded  and  plashed  and  spread 


52  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

in  minute  torrents  down  the  glass,  obscuring  the  already 
darkening  vision  of  furious  sea  and  sky. 

The  dog,  that  for  some  moments  had  shown  an  anxious 
restlessness  in  singular  concert  with  his  master's,  now 
rose  at  last  to  sniff  beneath  the  door.  No  sound  penetrated 
the  roar  of  the  blast ;  but  the  old  retriever's  uneasiness, 
his  sharp,  warning  bark  at  length  recalled  Sir  Adrian's 
wandering  thoughts  to  the  present.  And,  walking  up  to 
the  door,  he  opened  it. 

Oh,  God  !     Had  the  sea  given  up  its  dead  ? 

Sir  Adrian  staggered  back,  fell  on  his  knees  and  clapped 
his  hands  together  with  an  agonised  cry  : 

"Cecile  ....   1" 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  WHEEL  OF  TIME 

And  to  his  eye 
There  was  but  one  beloved  face  on  earth, 
And  that  was  shining  on  him. 

Byron. 

Upon  the  threshold  she  stood,  looking  in  upon  him  with 
dark,  luminous  eyes  ;  round  the  small  wet  face  tangles  of 
raven  hair  fell  limp  and  streaming  ;  dark  raiments  clung 
to  her  form,  diapered  with  sand  and  sea-foam,  sodden 
with  the  moisture  that  dripped  from  them  to  the  floor  ; 
under  the  hem  of  her  skirt  one  foot  peered  forth,  shoeless 
in  its  mud-stained  stocking. 

Sir  Adrian  stared  up  at  her,  his  brain  whirling  with  a 
frenzy  of  joy,  gripped  in  its  soaring  ecstasy  by  terror  of 
the  incomprehensible. 

On  the  wings  of  the  storm  and  the  wind  had  she  come 
to  him,  his  love — across  the  awful  barriers  that  divide  life 
and  death  ?  Had  his  longings  and  the  clamour  of  his 
desolate  soul  reached  her,  after  all  these  years,  in  the  far- 
beyond,  and  was  her  sweet  ghost  here  to  bid  him  cease 
from  them  and  let  her  lie  at  rest  .-*  Or,  yet,  had  she  come 
to  call  him  from  the  weary  world  that  their  souls  might 
meet  and  be  one  at  last  ?  .  .  .  .  Then  let  her  but  lay  her 
lips  against  his,  as  once  in  the  bitterness  of  death,  that 
his  sorely-tried  heart  may  break  with  the  exquisite  pang 
and  he,  too,  may  die  upon  their  kiss. 

Swift  such  thoughts  were  tossing  in  the  turmoil  of  his 
mind  when  the  vision  smiled  ....  a  young,  rosy,  living 
smile ;  and  then  reason,  memory,  the  wonder  of  her 
coming,  the  haunting  of  her  grave  went  from  him  ;  pos- 
sessed by  one  smgle  rapturous  certainty  he  started  up 
and  gathered  the  wet  form  into  his  strong  arms — yet 
gently  as  if  he  feared  to  crush  the  vision  into  void — and 
showered  kisses  on  the  wet  face. 

53 


54  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

Not  death — but  life  !  A  beating  heart  beneath  his  ;  a 
lithe  young  form  under  his  hand,  warm  lips  to  his  kisses, 
....  Merciful  Heaven  !  Were,  then,  these  twenty  years 
all  an  evil,  fevered  dream,  and  was  he  awake  at  length? 

She  turned  her  face  from  him  after  a  moment  and  put 
her  hand  against  his  breast  to  push  him  from  her  ;  and  as 
she  did  so  the  wonder  in  the  lovely,  familiar  eyes  turned 
to  merriment,  and  the  lips  parted  into  laughter. 

The  sound  of  the  girlish  laughter  broke  the  spell.  Sir 
Adrian  stepped  back,  and  passed  his  hand  across  his 
forehead  with  a  dazed  look. 

And  still  she  laughed  on. 

"Why,  cousin  Landale,"  she  said,  at  length  between 
the  peals  ;  "I  came  to  throw  myself  upon  your  kindness 
for  shelter  from  the  storm,  but — I  had  not  anticipated 
such  a  reception." 

The  voice,  clear  and  sweet,  with  just  a  tinge  of  out- 
landish intonation,  struck  Adrian  to  the  heart. 

"I    have    not    heard,"    he    faltered,     "that   voice    for 
twenty  years  .   .   .  .  !  " 

Then,  coming  up  to  her,  he  took  her  hands  ;  and,  draw- 
ing her  towards  the  firelight,  scanned  her  features  with 
eager,  hungering  eyes. 

"Do  not  think  me  mad,  child,"  he  said  at  last;  "tell 
me  who  you  are — what  has  brought  you  here?  Ah,  God, 
at  such  a  moment !  Who  is  it,"  he  pursued,  as  if  to  him- 
self, whilst  still  she  smiled  mockingly  and  answered  not ; 
"who  is  it,  then,  since  Cecile  de  Savenaye  is  dead — and 
I  am  not  dreaming — nor  in  fever?  No  vision  either — 
this  is  flesh  and  blood." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  mocked  the  girl  with  another  burst  of 
merriment;  "  flesh  and  blood,  please,  and  very  living! 
Why,  cousin  Landale,  you  that  knew  Cecile  de  Savenaye 
so  well  have  you  forgotten  two  babes  that  were  born  at 
your  own  house  of  Pulwick  ?  I  believe,  'tis  true,  I  have 
somewhat  altered  since  you  saw  me  last." 

And  again  the  old  room  echoed  to  the  unwonted  sound 
of  a  girl's  laughter. 

Now  was  the  hallucination  clearing  ;  but  the  reality 
evoked  a  new  and  almost  as  poignant  tenderness.  Cdcile 
— phantom  of  a  life-time's  love,  reborn  in  the  flesh,  young 
as  on  the  last  day  of  her  earthly  existence,  coming  back 
into  his  life  again,  even  the  same  as  she  had  left  it  I     A 


THE  WHEEL  OF  TIME  55 

second  wonder,  almost  as  sweet  as  the  first !  He  clung 
to  it  as  one  clings  to  the  presence  of  a  dream,  and,  joy 
unspeakable,  the  dream  did  not  melt  away,  but  remained, 
smiling,  beautiful,  unchanged. 

"  Cecile's  daughter  .  .  .  .  "  he  murmured  :  "  Cecile's 
self  again  ;  but  she  was  not  so  tall,  I  think,"  and  drew 
trembling,  reverent  hands  from  her  head  to  her  straight 
young  shoulders.  And  then  he  started,  crying  in  a 
changed  voice : 

"  How  wet  and  cold  you  are  !  Come  closer  to  the  fire 
— sit  you  into  this  chair,  here,  in  the  warmth." 

He  piled  up  the  hearth  with  faggots  till  the  flames 
roared  again.  She  dropped  into  the  proffered  chair  with 
a  little  shiver ;  now  that  he  recalled  her  to  it,  she  was 
wet  and  cold  too. 

He  surveyed  her  with  gathering  concern. 

"My  child,"  he  began,  and  hesitated,  continuing,  after 
a  short  pause  of  musing — for  the  thought  struck  him  as 
strange — ' '  I  may  call  you  so,  I  suppose  ;  I  that  am  nearly 
old  enough  to  be  your  father ;  my  mind  was  so  unhinged 
by  your  sudden  appearance,  by  the  wonderful  resem- 
blance, that  I  have  neglected  all  my  duties  as  host.  You 
will  suffer  from  this — what  shall  we  do  to  comfort  you  ? 
Here,  Jem,  good  dog  !     Call  Rene  !  " 

The  old  retriever  who,  concluding  that  the  visitor  was 
welcome,  had  returned  to  his  doze,  here  gathered  his 
stiff  limbs  together,  hobbled  out  through  the  doorway  to 
give  two  or  three  yelping  barks  at  some  point  on  the 
stairs,  and  then  crawl  back  to  his  cosy  corner  by  the 
hearth. 

The  girl  laughed  again.  It  was  all  odd,  new,  exciting, 
Adrian  looked  down  at  her.  Cecile,  too,  had  had  a  merry 
heart,  even  through  peril  and  misfortune. 

And  now  there  were  hasty  steps  upon  the  stairs,  creak- 
ing above  the  outer  tumult  of  sea  and  wind  ;  and,  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  lon"--established  custom  of  summoning- 
him,  Rend  appeared  upon  the  threshold,  holding  a  pair  of 
candles. 

At  the  sight  of  the  figure  sitting  by  the  fire  he  halted,  as 
if  rooted  to  the  ground,  and  threw  up  his  hands,  each  still 
clutching  its  candle. 

"Mademoiselle  .  .  .  .  !  "  he  ejaculated.  "  Mademoi- 
selle here  !  "     Then,  rapidly  recovering  his  quick  wits,  he 


56  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

deposited  his  burden  of  light  upon  the  table,  advanced 
towards  the  lady,  made  an  uncouth  but  profound  bow, 
and  turned  to  his  master. 

"And  this,  your  honour,"  he  remarked,  oracularly,  and 
in  his  usual  manner  of  literal  adaptation,  "  was  also  part 
of  the  news  I  had  for  your  honour  from  my  last  journey  ; 
but,  my  faith,  I  did  not  know  how  to  take  myself  to  it, 
as  your  honour  was  so  much  occupied  with  old  times  this 
evening.  But  I  had  seen  Mademoiselle  at  the  castle,  as 
Mademoiselle  can  tell  you  herself.  And  if  your  honour,'' 
he  added,  with  a  look  of  astonishment,  "  will  have  the 
goodness  to  say  how  it  is  possible  that  Mademoiselle 
managed  to  arrive  here  on  our  isle,  in  this  weather  of  all 
the  devils — reverence  speaking,  and  I  humbly  beg  the 
pardon  of  Mademoiselle  for  using  such  words — when  it 
was  with  pain  I  could  land  myself,  and  that  before  the 
storm — I  should  be  grateful  to  your  honour.  For  I  avow 
I  cannot  comprehend  it  at  all.  Ah,  your  honour  !  "  con- 
tinued Rene,  with  an  altered  tone,  "'tis  a  strange  thing, 
this  !  " 

The  looks  of  master  and  man  crossed  suddenly,  and  in 
the  frank  blue  eyes  of  the  Breton  peasant.  Sir  Adrian  read 
a  reflex  of  his  own  thoughts. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  more  in  answer  to  the  look  than  to 
the  exclamation,   "yes,  it  is  a  strange  thing,  triend." 

"  And  his  Honour  cannot  read  the  riddle  any  more 
than  you  yourself,  Rene,"  quoth  Mademoiselle  de  Save- 
naye,  composedly  from  her  corner;  "and,  as  for  me,  I 
can  give  no  explanations  until  I  am  a  little  warmer. " 

"Why,  truly,"  exclaimed  Sir  Adrian,  striking  his  fore- 
head, "  we  are  a  very  pair  of  dolts  !  Hurry,  Renny, 
hurry,  call  up  Margery,  and  bid  her  bring  some  hot  drink 
— tea,  broth,  or  what  she  has — and  blankets.  Stay  !  first 
fetch  my  furred  cloak  ;  quick,  Rene,  every  moment  is 
precious  !  " 

With  all  the  agitation  of  a  rarely  excited  man  Sir  Adrian 
threw  more  wood  on  the  fire,  hunted  for  a  cushion  to 
place  beneath  her  feet,  and  then,  seizing  the  cloak  from 
Rente's  hands,  he  helped  her  to  rise,  and  wrapped  its 
ample  folds  round  her  as  carefully  as  if  she  were  too 
precious  almost  to  be  touched. 

Thus  enveloped  she  sank  back  in  the  great  arm-chair 
with     a     cosy,    deliberate,     kitten-like    movement,    and 


THE  WHEEL  OF  TIME  57 

stretched  out  her  feet  to  the  blaze,  laying  the  little  shoe- 
less one  upon  Jem's  grey  muzzle. 

Adrian  knelt  beside  her,  and  began  gently  to  chafe  it 
with  both  hands.  And,  as  he  knelt,  silence  fell  between 
them,  and  the  storm  howled  out  yonder  ;  he  heard  her 
give  a  little  sigh — that  sigh  which  would  escape  from 
Cecile's  weariness  in  moments  of  rest,  which  had  once 
been  so  familiar  and  so  pathetic  a  sound  in  his  ear.  And 
once  more  the  power  of  the  past  came  over  him  ;  again 
he  was  upon  the  heath  near  Quiberon,  and  Cecile  was 
sitting  by  him  and  seeking  warmth  by  the  secret  fire. 

"Oh,  my  darling,"  he  murmured,  "your  poor  little 
feet  were  so  cold  ;  and  yet  you  would  not  let  me  gather 
them  to  my  breast."  And,  stooping  slowly,  he  kissed 
the  pretty  foot  in  its  torn,  stained  stocking  with  a  passion 
he  had  not  yet  shown. 

The  girl  looked  on  with  an  odd  little  smile.  It  was  a 
novel  experience,  to  inspire — even  vicariously — such  feel- 
ings as  these  ;  and  there  was  something  not  unpleasant 
in  the  sense  of  the  power  which  had  brought  this  strange 
handsome  man  prostrate  before  her — a  maidenly  tremor, 
too,  in  the  sensation  of  those  burning  lips  upon  her  feet. 

He  raised  his  eyes  suddenly,  with  the  old  expectation  of 
a  rebuff ;  and  then,  at  the  sight  of  the  youthful,  curious 
face  above  him,  betook  himself  to  sighing  too  ;  and,  laying 
the  little  foot  back  tenderly  upon  the  cushion,  he  rose. 

From  between  the  huge  fur  collar  which  all  but  covered 
her  head,  the  black  eyes  followed  him  as  alertly  as  a 
bird's  ;  intercepting  the  soft  melancholy  of  his  gaze,  she 
smiled  at  him,  mischievous,  confident,  and  uncommuni- 
cative, and  snuggled  deeper  into  the  fur. 

Leaning  against  the  high  mantel-board,  he  remained 
silent,  brooding  over  her  ;  the  clock  ticked  off  solemnly 
the  fleeting  moments  of  the  wonderful  hour  ;  and  ever  and 
anon  the  dog  drew  a  long  breath  of  comfort  and  stretched 
out  his  gaunt  limbs  more  luxuriously  to  the  heat.  After 
a  while  Sir  Adrian  spoke. 

"He  who  has  hospitality  to  dispense,"  said  he,  smiling 
down  at  her  mutinous  grace,  "should  never  ask  whence 
or  how  the  guest  came  to  his  hearth  ....   and  yet — " 

She  made  a  slight  movement  of  laziness,  but  volunteered 
nothing  ;  and  he  continued,  his  look  becoming  more  wist- 
ful as  he  spoke  : 


58  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

"Your  having-  reached  this  rock,  during  such  weather, 
is  startling  enough  ;  it  is  God's  providence  that  there  should 
live  those  in  these  ruins  who  are  able  to  give  you  succour. 
But  that  you  should  come  in  to  me  at  the  moment  you 
did — "  He  halted  before  the  bold  inquisitive  brightness 
of  her  eyes.  ' '  Some  day  perhaps  you  will  let  me  explain," 
he  went  on,  embarrassed.  "  Indeed  I  must  have  seemed 
the  most  absolute  madman,  to  you.  But  he  who  thinks 
he  sees  one  returned  from  death  in  angry  waters,  may  be 
pardoned  some  display  of  emotion." 

The  girl  sat  up  briskly  and  shook  herself  as  if  in  protest 
against  the  sadness  of  his  smile  and  look. 

"I  rise  indeed  from  a  watery  grave,"  she  said  lightly, 
"or  at  least  from  what  should  have  been  my  grave,  had 
I  had  my  deserts  for  my  foolishness  ;  as  it  has  turned  out 
I  do  not  regret  it  now  ;  though  I  did,  about  midway." 

The  red  lips  parted  and  the  little  teeth  gleamed.  "I 
have  found  such  kindness  and  welcome."  She  caressed 
the  dog  who,  lazily,  tried  to  lick  her  hand.  "It  is  all 
such  an  adventure  ;  so  much  more  amusing  than  Pul- 
wick  ;  so  much  more  interesting  than  ever  I  fancied  it 
might  be  !  " 

"  Pulwick  ;  you  come  from  Pulwick  ?  "  said  Sir  Adrian 
musing;  "true,  Rene  has  said  it  but  just  now.  Yet,  it  is 
of  a  piece  with  the  strangeness  of  it  all." 

"Yes,"  said  Mademoiselle  de  Savenaye,  once  more 
collecting  her  cloak,  which  her  hurried  movement  had 
thrown  off  her  shoulder.  "  Madelon  and  I  are  now  at  Pul- 
wick— I  am  Molly,  cousin,  please  to  remember — or  rather 
I  am  here,  very  warm  now,  and  comfortable,  and  she  is 
somewhere  along  the  shore— perhaps — she  and  John,  as 
wet  as  drowned  rats.  Well,  well,  I  had  best  tell  you  the 
tale  from  the  beginning,  or  else  we  never  shall  be  out  of 
the  labyrinth. — We  started  from  Pulwick,  for  a  ride  by  the 
shore,  ^ladelon  and  I.  When  we  were  on  the  strand  it  came 
on  to  rain.  There  was  smoke  out  of  your  chimney.  I  pro- 
posed a  canter  as  far  as  the  ruins,  for  shelter.  I  knew  very 
well  Madelon  would  not  follow  ;  but  I  threw  poor  Lucifer 
— you  know  Lucifer,  Mr.  Landale  has  reserved  him  for  me  ; 
of  course  you  know  Lucifer,  I  believe  he  belongs  to  you ! 
Well,  I  threw  him  along  tlie  causeway.  John,  he's  the 
groom  you  know,  and  ^Iadclon,  shrieked  after  me.  But 
it  was  beautiful — this  magnificent  tearing  gallop   in   the 


THE  WHEEL  OF  TIME  59 

rain — I  was  not  going  to  stop. — But  when  we  were  half 
way,  Lucifer  and  I,  I  saw  suddenly  that  the  foam  seemed 
to  cover  the  sand  in  front  of  me.  Then  I  pulled  up  quick 
and  turned  round  to  look  behind  me.  There  was  already 
a  frightful  wind,  and  the  sand  and  the  rain  blinded  me 
almost,  but  there  was  no  mistake — the  sea  was  running 
between  the  shore  and  me.  Oh  !  my  God  !  but  I  was 
frightened  then ;  I  beat  poor  Lucifer  until  my  whip 
broke,  and  he  started  away  with  a  will.  But  when  his 
feet  began  to  splash  the  water  he  too  became  frightened 
and  stopped.  I  did  not  know  what  to  do  ;  I  pulled  out 
my  broach  to  spur  him  with  the  pin,  but,  at  the  first  prick 
I  gave  him,  he  reared,  and  swerved  and  I  fell  right  on  my 
face  in  the  froth.  I  got  up  and  began  to  run  through  the 
water  ;  then  I  came  to  some  stones  and  I  knew  I  was 
saved,  though  the  water  was  up  to  my  knees  and  rushing 
by  like  a  torrent.  When  I  had  clambered  up  the  beach  I 
thought  again  of  poor  Lucifer.  I  looked  about  and  saw 
him  a  little  way  off.  He  was  shaking  and  tossing  his  dear 
black  head,  and  neighing,  though  I  really  did  not  hear 
him,  for  the  wind  was  in  my  ears  ;  his  body  was  stock 

still,  I  could  not  see  his  legs And  gradually  he 

sank  lower,  and  lower,  and  lower,  and  at  last  the  water 
passed  over  his  head.     Oh  !  it  was  horrible,  horrible  !  " 

The  girl  shuddered  and  her  bright  face  clouded.  After 
a  moment  she  resumed  : 

"It  was  only  then  I  thought  of  the  moving  sands  they 
spoke  of  the  other  day  at  Pulwick — and  that  was  why 
Madelon  and  that  poltroon  groom  would  not  follow  me  ! 
Yet  perhaps  they  were  wise,  after  all,  for  the  thought  of 
being  buried  alive  made  me  turn  weak  all  of  a  sudden. 
My  knees  shook  and  I  had  to  sit  down,  although  I  knew  I 
had  passed  through  the  danger.  But  I  was  so  sorry  for 
poor  Lucifer  !  I  thought  if  I  had  come  down  and  led 
him,  poor  fellow,  he  might  have  come  with  me.  Death 
is  so  awful,  so  hideous  ;  he  was  so  full  of  life  and  carried 
me  so  bravely,  only  a  few  minutes  before  !  Is  it  not  a 
shame  that  there  should  be  such  a  thing  as  death  ? "  she 
cried,  rebelliously,  and  looked  up  at  the  man  above  her, 
whose  face  had  grown  white  at  the  thought  of  the  danger 
she  had  barely  escaped. 

"  I  waited,"  she  resumed  at  length,  "  till  I  thought  he 
must  be  quite  dead,  there  below,  and  came  up  to  the 


6o  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

ruins,  and  looked  for  an  entrance.  I  knocked  at  some 
doors  and  called,  but  the  wind  was  so  loud,  no  one  heard. 
And  then,  at  last,  there  was  one  door  I  could  open,  so  I 
entered  and  came  up  the  stairs  and  startled  you,  as  you 
know.  And  that  is  how  I  came  here  and  how  Lucifer  is 
drowned." 

As  she  finished  her  tale  at  last,  she  looked  up  at  her 
companion.  But  Sir  Adrian,  who  had  followed  her  with 
ever-deepening  earnestness  of  mien,  remained  silent  ; 
noticing-  which  she  added  quickly  and  with  a  certain 
tinge  of  defiance  : 

"And  now,  no  doubt,  you  are  not  quite  so  pleased  as 
you  seemed  at  first  with  the  apparition  which  has  caused 
you  the  loss  of  one  of  your  best  horses  !  '" 

"Why  child, "  cried  Sir  Adrian,  "so  that  you  be  safe 
you  might  have  left  all  Pulwick  at  the  bottom  of  the  sands 
for  me  !  "  And  Rene  who  entered  the  room  at  that  mo- 
ment, heading  the  advance  of  Dame  Margery  with  the 
posset,  here  caught  the  extraordinary  sound  of  a  laugh  on 
his  master's  lips,  and  stepped  back  to  chuckle  to  himself 
and  rub  his  hands. 

"Who  would  have  believed  that  !  "  he  muttered,  "and 
I  who  was  afraid  to  tell  his  honour !  Oh,  yes,  there  are 
better  times  coming.  Now  in  with  you,  Mother  Margery, 
see  for  yourself  who  is  there." 

Holding  in  both  hands  a  fragrant,  steaming  bowl,  the 
old  crone  made  her  slow  entrance  upon  the  scene,  peering 
with  dim  eyes,  and  dropping  tremulous  curtseys  every 
two  or  three  steps. 

"  Renny  towd  me  as  you  wanted  summat  hot  for  a 
lady, "she  began  cautiously  ;  and  then  having  approached 
near  for  recognition  at  last,  burst  forth  into  a  long-drawn 
cry  ! 

"  Eh,  you  never  says  !  Eh,  dear  o'  me,"  and  was  fain 
to  relinquish  the  bowl  to  her  fellow-servant  who  narrowly 
watching,  dived  forward  just  in  time  to  catch  it  from  her, 
that  she  might  clasp  her  aged  hands  together  once  and 
again  with  ever-renewed  gestures  of  astonishment.  "An' 
it  were  truth  then,  an'  I  that  towd  Renny  to  give  over  his 
nonsense — I  didn't  believe  it,  I  welly  couldn't.  Eh, 
Mester  Adrian,  but  she's  like  the  poor  lady  that's  dead 
and  gone,  the  spit  an'  image  she  is — c-eh,  she  is  ! " 

Molly  de  Savcnaye  laughed  aloud,  stretched   out  her 


THE  WHEEL  OF  TIME  6i 

hand  for  the  bowl,  and  began  with  dainty  caution  to  sip 
its  scalding  contents. 

"Ah,  my  dear  Margery,"  said  the  master,  "we  little 
thought  what  a  guest  the  sea  would  cast  up  at  our  doors 
to-night  !  and  now  we  must  do  our  best  for  her  ;  when 
she's  finished  your  comforting  mixture  I  shall  give  her 
into  your  charge.  You  ought  to  put  her  to  bed — it  will 
not  be  the  first  time." 

"Ah!  it  will  not,  and  a  troublesome  child  she  was," 
replied  Margery,  after  the  usual  pause  for  the  assimila- 
tion of  his  remark,  turning  to  the  speaker  from  her  palsied 
yet  critical  survey  of  her  whilom  nursling. 

"And  I'll  see  to  her,  never  fear,  I'll  fettle  up  a  room 
for  her  at  once — blankets  is  airing  already,  an'  sheets,  an' 
Renny  he's  seen  to  the  fire,  so  that  as  soon  as  Miss,  here, 
is  ready,  I  am." 

Upon  which,  dropping  a  last  curtsey  with  an  assumed 
dignity  which  would  have  befitted  a  mistress  of  the  robes, 
she  took  her  departure,  leaving  Adrian  smiling  with  amuse- 
ment at  her  specious  manner  of  announcing  that  his  own 
bedroom — the  only  one  available  for  the  purpose  in  the 
ruins — was  being  duly  converted  into  a  lady's  bower. 

"It  grieves  me  to  think,"  mused  he  after  a  pause,  while 
Rend  still  bursting  with  ungratified  curiosity,  hung  about 
the  further  end  of  the  room,  "  of  the  terrible  anxiety  they 
must  be  in  about  you  at  Pulwick,  and  of  our  absolute 
inability  to  convey  to  them  the  good  news  of  your 
safety. " 

The  girl  gave  a  little  laugh,  with  her  lips  over  the  cup, 
and  shrugged  her  shoulders  but  said  nothing. 

"My  God,  yes,"  quoth  Rene  cheerfully  from  his  corner. 
"Notre  Dame  d'Auray  has  watched  over  Mademoiselle 
to-day.  She  would  not  permit  the  daughter  to  die  like 
the  mother.  And  now  we  have  got  her  ladyship  we  shall 
keep  her  too.  This,  if  your  honour  remembers  his  sailor's 
knowledge,  looks  like  a  three-days'  gale." 

"You  are  right,  I  fancy,"  said  Sir  Adrian,  going  over 
to  him  and  looking  out  of  the  window.  "Mademoiselle 
de  Savenaye  will  have  to  take  up  her  abode  in  our  light- 
house for  a  longer  time  than  she  bargained.  I  do  not 
remember  hearing  the  breakers  thunder  in  our  cave  so 
loud  for  many  years.  I  trust, "  continued  the  light-keeper, 
coming  down  to  his  fair  guest  again,  "  that  you  may  be 


62  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

able  to  endure  such  rough  hospitality  as  ours  must  needs 
be!" 

"It  has  been  much  more  pleasant  and  I  feel  far  more 
welcome  already  than  at  Puhvick,"  remarked  Mademoi- 
selle, between  two  deliberate  sips,  and  in  no  way  dis- 
composed, it  seemed,  at  the  prospect  held  out  to  her. 

"  How  ?"  cried  Sir  Adrian  with  a  start,  while  the  un- 
wonted flush  mounted  to  his  forehead,  "you,  not  wel- 
come at  Puhvick  !  Have  they  not  welcomed  a  child  of 
Cecile  de  Savenaye  at  Puhvick?  ....  Thank  God,  then, 
for  the  accident  that  has  sent  you  to  me  !  " 

The  girl  looked  at  him  with  an  inquisitive  smile  in  her 
eyes  ;  there  was  something  on  her  lips  which  she  re- 
strained.    Surrendering  her  cup,  she  remarked  demurely  : 

"Yes,  it  was  a  lucky  accident,  was  it  not,  that  there 
was  some  one  to  offer  shelter  to  the  outcast  from  the  sea? 
It  is  like  a  tale  of  old.  It  is  delightful.  Delightful,  too, 
not  to  be  drowned,  safe  and  sound  ....  and  welcome 
in  this  curious  old  place." 

She  had  risen  and,  as  the  cloak  fell  from  her  steaming 
garments,  again  she  shivered. 

"But  you  are  right,"  she  said,  "  I  must  go  to  bed,  and 
get  these  damp  garments  off.  And  so,  my  Lord  of  Scar- 
they,  '  will  retire  to  my  apartments  ;  my  Lady  in  Waiting 
I  see  yonder  is  ready  for  me." 

With  a  quaint  mixture  of  playfulness  and  gravity,  she 
extended  her  hand,  and  Adrian  stooped  and  kissed  it — 
as  he  had  kissed  fair  Cdcile  de  Saven aye's  rosy  finger-tip 
upon  the  porch  of  Pulwick,  twenty  years  before. 


CHAPTER  VII 

FOREBODINGS   OF  GLADNESS 

Molly  de  Savenaye  in  her  improvised  bedroom,  wet  as 
she  was,  could  hardly  betake  herself  to  disrobing,  so 
amused  was  she  in  surveying-  the  fresh  and  romantic  oddity 
of  her  surroundings,  with  their  mixture  of  barbarous  rude- 
ness and  almost  womanish  refinement. 

Old  Margery's  fumbling  hands  were  not  nimble  either, 
and  it  was  long  since  she  had  acted  as  attendant  upon  one 
of  her  own  sex.  And  so  the  matter  progressed  but  slowly  ; 
but  the  speed  of  Margery's  tongue  was  apparently  not 
affected  by  its  length  of  service.  It  wagged  ceaselessly  ; 
the  girl  between  her  own  moods  of  curious  speculation 
vouchsafing  an  amused,  half-contemptuous  ear. 

Presently,  however,  as  the  nurse's  reminiscences  wan- 
dered from  the  less  interesting  topic  of  her  own  vicissi- 
tudes, the  children  she  had  reared  or  buried,  and  the  mar- 
vellous ailments  she  had  endured,  to  an  account  of  those 
days  when  she  had  served  the  French  Madam  and  her 
babes,  Molly,  slowly  peeling  a  clinging  sleeve  from  her 
arm,  turned  a  more  eager  and  attentive  face  to  her. 

"Ah,"  quoth  Margery,  appraising  her  with  blear 
eyes,  '*  it's  a  queer  thing  how  ye  favour  your  mother,  miss. 
She  had  just  they  beautiful  shoulders  and  arms,  as  firm 
an'  as  white ;  but  you're  taller,  I  think,  and  may  be  so,  to 
speak,  a  stouter  make  altogether.  Eh,  dear,  you  were 
always  a  fine  child  and  the  poor  lady  set  a  deal  of  store 
on  you,  she  did.  She  took  you  with  her  and  left  your 
sister  with  my  Sally,  when  she  was  trapesing  up  to  London 
and  back  with  Mester  Adrian,  ay,  and  me  with  ye.  And 
many  the  day  that  1  wished  myself  safe  at  Pulwick  !  And 
I  mind  the  day  she  took  leave  of  you,  I  do  that,  well." 

Here  Dame  Margery  paused  and  shook  her  head 
solemnly,  then  pursued  in  another  key  : 

' '  See  now,  miss,  dear,  just  step  out  of  they  wet  things, 
will  ye  now,  and  let  me  put  this  hot  sheet  round  ye  ?  " 

63 


64  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

"  But  I  want  to  hear  about  myself,"  said  Molly,  grate- 
fully wrappin,q;  the  hot  linen  round  her  young  beauty,  and 
beginning  to  rub  her  black  locks  energetically.  "  Where 
was  it  my  mother  parted  from  me  ?  " 

"Why,  I'll  tell  you,  miss.  When  Madam — we  alius 
used  to  call  her  Madam,  ye  know — was  goin' her  ways  to 
the  ship  as  was  to  take  her  to  France,  I  took  you  after  her 
mysel'  down  to  the  shore  that  she  might  have  the  very 
last  of  ye.  Eh,  I  mind  it  as  if  it  were  yesterday.  Mester 
Adrian  was  to  go  with  her — Sir  Adrian,  I  should  say,  but 
he  was  but  Mester  Adrian  then — an'  a  two  three  more  o' 
th'  gentry  as  was  all  fur  havin'  a  share  o'  th'  fightin'.  Sir 
Thomas  himsel'  was  theer — I  like  as  if  I  could  see  him 
now,  poor  owd  gentleman,  talkin'  an'  laughin'  very  hard 
an'  jov'al,  an'  wipin'  's  e'en  when  he  thought  nobody 
noticed.  Eh,  dear,  yes  !  I  could  ha'  cried  mysel'  to  see 
th'  bonny  young  lady  goin'  off  fro'  her  bairns.  An'  to 
think  she  niver  came  back  to  them  no  more.  Well,  well ! 
An'  Mester  Adrian  too — such  a  fine  well-set-up  young 
gentleman  as  he  were — and  he  niver  comed  back  for  ten 
year  an'  when  he  did,  he  was  that  warsened — "  she 
stopped,  shook  her  head  and  groaned. 

"Well,  but  how  about  me,  nurse,"  observed  Molly, 
"  what  about  nie  P  " 

"■  Miss,  please  it  was  this  way.  Madam  was  wantin'a 
last  look  at  her  bairn — eh,  she  did,  poor  thing  !  You  was 
alius  her  favoryite,  ye  know,  miss — our  Sally  was  wet- 
nurse  to  Miss  Maddyline,  but  Madam  had  you  hersel'. 
Well,  miss,  I'd  brought  you  well  lapped  up  i'  my  shawl 
an'  William  Shearman — that  was  Thomas  Shearman's  son, 
feyther  to  William  an'  Tom  as  lives  over  yonder  at  Pulwick 
village — well,  William  was  standin'  in  's  great  sea-boots 
ready  to  carry  her  through  th'  surf  into  the  boat ;  an' 
Mester  Adrian — Sir  Adrian,  I  mean — stood  it  might  be 
here,  miss,  an'  there  was  Renny,  an'  yon  were  th'  t'other 
gentry.  Well,  Madam  stopped  an'  took  you  out  o'  my 
arms,  an'  hugged  you  to  her  breast — an'  then  she  geet 
agate  o'  kissin'  you — your  head  an'  your  little  'ands.  An' 
you  was  jumpin'  an'  crowin'  in  her  arms — the  wind  had 
blown  your  cap  off,  an'  your  little  downy  black  hair  was 
standing  back.  (Just  let  me  get  at  your  hair  now,  miss, 
please —     Eh  !  it's  cruel  full  of  sand,  my  word,  it  is.)" 

"  It's  'ard,  when  all's  said  an'  done,  to  part  wi'  th'  babe 


FOREBODINGS  OF  GLADNESS  6$ 

ye've  suckled,  an'  Madam,  though  there  was  niver  nought 
nesh  about  'er  same  as  there  is  about  most  women,  an' 
specially  ladies — she  'ad  th'  mother's  'eart,   she  'ad,  miss, 
an  when  th'  time  coom   for  her  to  leave  th'   little  un,  I 
could  see,  as  it  were,  welly  burstin'.     There  we  stood  wi' 
th'  wind  blowin'  our  clothes  an'  our  'air,   an'  the  waves 
roarin',  an'  one  bigger  nor  th'  t'others  ran  up  till  th'  foam 
reached  Madam's  little  feet,  but  she  niver  took  no  notice. 
Then  all  of  a  sudden  she  gets  th'  notion  that  she'd  like  to 
take  you  with  'er,  an'  she  turns  an'  tells  Mester  Adrian  so. 
'She  shall  come  with  me,'  she  says,   quite  sharp  an'  de- 
termined, an'  makes  a  sign  to  William  Shearman  to  carry 
'em  both  over.    '  No,  no,'  says  Mester  Adrian,  '  quite  im- 
possible,'  says  he,  as  wise  as  if  he'd  been  an   owd  man 
i'  stead  o'  nobbut  a  lad,  ye  might  say.      '  It  would  be  mad- 
ness both  for  you  an'  th'  child.      Now,'  he  says,  very  quiet 
an'  gentle,  '  if  I  might  advise,  I  should  say  stay  here  with 
the  child.'     Eh,  I  couldn't  tell  ye  all  he  said,  an'  then  Sir 
Tummas  coom  bustlin'  up,  '  Do,  now,  my  dear  ;  think  of 
it,'  he  says,  pattin'    her  o'  th'  hand.      'Stay  with  us,'  he 
says,    '  ye'U  be   welcome  as  th'  flowers  in   May  ! '     An' 
there  was  Renny  wi'  's  'at  off,   an'  th'  tears  pourin'  down 
his  face,   beggin'   an'   prayin'  Madam  to  stop — at  least,  I 
reckoned  that  was  what  he  were  sayin'  for  it  was  all  in  's 
own  outlandish  gibberish.     The   poor  lady  !   she'd  look 
from  one  to  th'  t'other  an'  a  body  a'  must  think  she'd  give 
in — an'    then    she'd    unbethink    hersel'    again.       An'   Sir 
Thomas,   he'd  say,  '  Do  now,    my  dear,'  an'  then   when 
she'd  look  at  him  that  pitiful,  he'd  out  wi'  's  red  'andkercher 
an'  frown  over  at  Mester  Adrian,  an',    says  he,  'I  wonder 
ye  can  ax  her  ! '     Well,    all  of  a  sudden  off  went  th'  big 
gun  in  th'  ship — that   was  to  let  'em  know,    miss,    do  ye 
see — an'  up  went  Madam's  head,  an'  then  th'  wind  fetched 
th'  salt  spray  to  her  face,  an'  a  kind  o'  change  came  over 
her.     She  looked  at  the  child,  then  across  at  the  ship — an' 
then  she  fair  tossed  ye  back  to  me.     Big  William  catched 
her  up  in  his  arms  just  same  as  another  bairn,  an'  carried 
her  to  the  boat." 

"Yes,"  said  Molly,  gazing  into  the  burning  logs  with 
brilliant  eyes,  but  speaking  low,  as  if  to  herself,  so  that 
her  attendant's  deaf  ears  failed  to  catch  the  meaning  of 
the  words.  "  Ah,  that  was  life  indeed  !  Happy  mother 
to  have  seen  such  life — though  she  did  die  young." 

5 


(£  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

"As  ye  say,  miss,"  answered  Margery,  making  a  guess 
at  the  most  likely  comment  from  a  daughter's  lips,  "it 
was  cruel  hard — it  was  that.  '  Come,  make  haste  !  '  cries 
the  other  young  gentlemen  :  my  word,  they  were  in  a 
hurry  lest  Madam  happen  to  change  her  mind.  I  could 
welly  have  laughed  to  see  their  faces  when  Mester  Adrian 
were  trying  to  persuade  her  to  stop  at  Pulwick,  and  let 
the  men  go  alone.  'T  wern't  for  that  they  reckoned  to 
go  all  that  road  to  France,  ye  may  think,  miss.  Well, 
miss,  in  a  few  minutes  they  was  all  out  i'  the  boat  wi'  th' 
waves  tossin'  'em — an'  I  stood  watchin'  with  you  i'  my 
arms,  cryin'  and  kickin'  out  wi'  your  little  legs,  an'  hittin' 
of  me  wi'  your  little  'ands,  same  as  if  ye  knowed  summat 
o'  what  was  agate,  poor  lamb,  an'  was  angry  wi'  me  for 
keepin'  ye.  Then  in  a  little  while  the  big,  white  sails  o' 
th'  ship  went  swellin'  out  an'  soon  it  was  gone.  An' that 
was  th'  last  we  saw  o'  Madam.  A  two-three  year  arter 
you  an'  Miss  Maddyline  was  fetched  away,  to  France,  as 
I've  been  towd.  I  doubt  you  didn't  so  much  as  think 
there  was  such  a  place  as  Pulwick,  though  many  a  one 
there  minds  how  they  dandled  and  played  wi'  you  when 
you  was  a  wee  bairn,  miss." 

"Well,  I  am  very  glad  to  be  back  in  England,  any- 
how," said  Molly,  nimbly  slipping  into  bed.  "  Oh,  Mar- 
gery, what  delicious  warm  sheets,  and  how  good  it  is  to 
be  in  bed  alive,  dry,  and  warm,  after  all  !  " 

A  new  atmosphere  pervaded  Scarthey  that  night.  The 
peaceful  monotony  of  years,  since  the  master  of  Pulwick 
had  migrated  to  his  "ruins,"  was  broken  at  last,  and 
happily.  A  warm  colour  seemed  to  have  crept  upon  the 
hitherto  dun  and  dull  surroundings  and  brightened  all  the 
prospects. 

At  any  rate  Rend,  over  his  busy  work  in  the  lantern, 
whistled  and  hummed  snatches  of  song  with  unwonted 
blithesomeness,  and,  after  lighting  the  steady  watch-light 
and  securing  all  his  paraphernalia  with  extra  care,  dallied 
some  time  longer  than  usual  on  the  outer  platform,  striv- 
ing to  snatch  through  the  driven  wraith  a  glance  of  the 
distant  lights  of  Pulwick.  For  there,  in  the  long  distance, 
ensconced  among  the  woods,  stood  a  certain  gate-lodge 
of  greystone,  much  covered  with  ivy,  which  sheltered, 
among  other  inmates,  the  gatekeeper's  blue-eyed,  ripe 
and  ruddy  daughter — Dame  Margery's  pet  grandchild. 


FOREBODINGS  OF  GLADNESS  (^7 

The  idea  of  ever  leaving  the  master — even  for  the  sake 
of  the  happiness  to  be  found  over  yonder — was  not  one 
to  be  entertained  by  Rene'.  But  what  if  dreams  of  a  re- 
turn to  the  Hfe  of  the  world  should  arise  after  to-day  in 
the  recluse's  mind  ?  Ah,  the  master's  eyes  had  been  filled 
with  light  I  .   .   .   .   and  had  he  not  actually  laughed  ? 

Rend  peered  again  through  the  wind,  but  nothing  could 
be  seen  of  the  world  abroad,  save  grey,  tumbling  waters 
foaming  at  the  foot  of  the  islet  ;  fretful  waters  coalescing 
all  around  with  the  driven,  misty  air.  A  desolate  view 
enough,  had  there  been  room  for  melancholy  thoughts  in 
his  heart. 

Blithely  did  he  descend  the  steep  wooden  stairs  from 
the  roaring,  weather-beaten  platform,  to  the  more  secure 
inhabited  keep  ;  and,  humming  a  satisfied  tune,  he  en- 
tered upon  Margery  in  her  flaming  kitchen,  to  find  the 
old  lady  intent  on  sorting  out  a  heap  of  feminine  garments 
and  spreading  them  before  the  fire. 

Rend  took  up  a  little  shoe,  sand-soiled  and  limp,  and 
reverentially  rubbed  it  on  his  sleeve. 

"Well,  mother,"  he  said,  cheerfully,  "  it  is  a  long  while 
since  you  had  to  do  with  such  pretty  things.  My  faith, 
these  are  droll  doings,  ah — and  good,  too  !  You  will  see, 
Mother  Margery,  there  will  be  good  out  of  all  this." 

But  Margery  invariably  saw  fit,  on  principle,  to  doubt 
all  the  opinions  of  her  rival. 

Eh,  she  didn't  hold  so  much  wi'  wenches  hersel',  an' 
Mester  Adrian,  she  reckoned,  hadn't  come  to  live  here  all 
by  himsel'  to  have  visitors  breaking  in  on  him  that  gate  ! 

"There  be  \\s\ioxs  and  visitors,  mother — I  tell  you,  I 
who  speak  to  you,  that  his  honour  is  happy." 

Margery,  with  a  mysterious  air,  smoothed  out  a  long 
silk  stocking  and  gave  an  additional  impetus  to  the  tremor 
Nature  had  already  bestowed  upon  her  aged  head. 

Well,  it  wasn't  for  her  to  say.  She  hoped  and  prayed 
there  was  nowt  bad  a  coomin'  on  the  family  again  ;  but 
sich  likenesses  as  that  of  Miss  to  her  mother  was  not  lucky, 
to  her  minding  ;  it  was  not.  Nowt  good  had  come  to 
Mester  Adrian  from  the  French  Madam.  Ah,  Mester 
Adrian  had  been  happy  like  with  her  too,  and  she  had 
taken  him  away  from  his  home,  an'  his  people,  an'  sent 
him  back  wi'out  's  soul  in  the  end. 

"And  now  her  daughter  has  come  to  give  it  him  back," 


68  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

retorted  Rene',  as  he  fell  to,  with  a  zest,  on  the  savoury- 
mess  he  had  concocted  for  his  own  supper. 

"  Eh,  well,  I  hope  nowt  bad's  i'  the  road,"  said  Mar- 
gery with  senile  iteration.  "They  do  say  no  good  ever 
comes  o'  saving  bodies  from  drowning  ;  not  that  one  'ud 
wish  the  poor  Miss  to  have  gone  into  the  sands — an'  she 
the  babby  I  weaned  too  !  " 

Rene'  interrupted  her  with  a  hearty  laugh.  "Yes, 
every  one  knows  it  carries  misfortune  to  save  people  from 
the  drowning,  but  there,  you  see,  her  ladyship,  she  saved 
herself— so  that  ought  to  bring  good  fortune.  Good- 
night, Mother  Margery,  take  good  care  of  the  lady.  .  .  . 
Ah,  how  I  wish  I  had  the  care  of  her  !  "  he  added  simply, 
and,  seizing  his  lantern,  proceeded  to  ascend  once  more 
to  his  post  aloft. 

He  paused  once  on  his  way,  in  the  loud  sighing  stairs, 
struck  with  a  fresh  aspect  of  the  day's  singular  events — 
a  quaint  thought,  born  of  his  native  religious  faith  :  The 
Lady,  the  dear  Mistress  had  just  reached  Heaven,  no 
doubt,  and  had  straightway  sent  them  the  young  one  to 
console  and  comfort  them.  Eh  bien  !  they  had  had  their 
time  of  Purgatory  too,  and  now  they  might  behappy. 

Pleasant  therefore  were  Rene's  musings,  up  in  the  light 
watcher's  bunk,  underneath  the  lantern,  as,  smoking  a 
pipe  of  rest,  he  listened  complacently  to  the  hissing  storm 
around  him. 

And  in  the  master's  sleeping  chamber  beneath  him, 
now  so  curiously  turned  into  a  feminine  sanctum,  pleas- 
ant thoughts  too,  if  less  formed,  and  less  concerned  with 
the  future,  lulled  its  dainty  occupant  to  rest. 

Luxuriously  stretched  between  the  warm  lavender- 
scented  sheets,  watching  from  her  pillow  the  leaping  fire 
on  the  hearth.  Miss  Molly  wondered  lazily  at  her  own 
luck  ;  at  the  many  possible  results  of  the  day's  escapade  ; 
wondered  amusedly  whether  any  poignant  sorrow — ex- 
cept, indeed  poor  Madeleine's  tears — for  her  supposed 
demise,  really  darkened  the  supper  party  at  Pul wick  this 
evening  ;  wondered  agreeably  how  the  Lord  of  the  Ruined 
Castle  would  meet  her  on  the  morrow,  after  his  singular 
reception  of  her  this  day  ;  how  long  she  would  remain  in 
these  romantic  surroundings  and  whether  she  would  like 
them  as  well  at  the  end  of  the  visitation. 

And  as  the  blast  howled  with  increasing  rage,  and  the 


FOREBODINGS  OF  GLADNESS  69 

cold  night  drew  closer  on,  and  the  great  guns  in  the  sea- 
cave  boomed  more  angrily  with  the  risen  tide,  she  dimly 
began  to  dwell  upon  the  thought  of  poor  Lucifer  being 
sucked  deeper  into  his  cold  rapacious  grave,  whilst  she 
was  held  in  the  warm  embrace  of  a  man  whose  eyes  were 
masterful  and  yet  gentle,  whose  arm  was  strong,  whose 
kisses  were  tender. 

And  in  the  delight  of  the  contrast.  Mademoiselle  de 
Savenaye  fell  into  the  profound  slumber  of  the  young  and 
vigorous. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  PATH  OF  WASTED  YEARS 

And  I  only  think  of  the  woman  that  weeps  ; 
But  I  forget,  always  forget,  the  smiling  child. 

Luteplayer'' s  Song. 

That  night,  even  when  sheer  fatigue  had  subdued  the 
currents  of  blood  and  thought  that  surged  in  his  head, 
Sir  Adrian  was  too  restless  to  avail  himself  of  the  emer- 
gency couch  providently  prepared  by  Rend  in  a  corner. 
But,  ceasing  his  fretful  pacing  to  and  fro,  he  sat  down  in 
the  arm-chair  by  the  hearth  where  she  had  sat — -the  waif 
of  the  sea — wrapped  round  him  the  cloak  that  had  en- 
folded the  young  body,  hugging  himself  in  the  salt 
moisture  the  fur  still  retained,  to  spend  the  long  hours  in 
half-waking,  firelight  dreams. 

And  every  burst  of  tempest  rage,  every  lash  of  rain  at 
the  window,  every  thud  of  hurricane  breaking  itself  on 
impassable  ramparts,  andshriekof  baffled  winds  searching 
the  roofless  halls  around,  found  a  strangely  glad  echo  in 
his  brain — made  a  sort  of  burden  to  his  thoughts  : 

Heap  up  the  waters  round  this  happy  island,  most 
welcome  winds — heap  them  up  high  and  boiling,  and 
retain  her  long  captive  in  these  lonely  ruins  ! 

And  ever  the  image  in  his  mind's  eye  was,  as  before, 
Cdcile — Cecile  who  had  come  back  to  him,  for  all  sober 
reason  knew  it  was  but  the  child. 

The  child !     Why  had  he   never    thought    of  the 

children  these  weary  years  .-*  They,  all  that  remained  of 
Cecile,  were  living  and  might  have  been  sought.  Strange 
that  he  had  not  remembered  him  of  the  children  I 

Twenty  years  since  he  had  last  set  eyes  upon  the  little 
living  creature  in  her  mother's  arms.  And  the  picture 
that  the  memory  evoked  was,  after  all,  Cecile  again,  only 
Cdcile — not  the  queer  little  black-eyed  puppet,  even  then 
associated  with  sea-foam  and  salty  breeze.     Twenty  years 

70 


THE  PATH  OF  WASTED  YEARS         71 

during  which  she  was  growing  and  waxing  in  beauty,  and 
unawares,  maturing  towards  this  wonderful  meeting — and 
he  had  never  given  a  thought  to  her  existence. 

In  what  sheltered  ways  had  this  fair  duplicate  of  his 
love  been  growing  from  a  child  to  womanhood  during 
that  space  of  life,  so  long  to  look  back  upon — or  so  short 
and  transient,  according  to  the  mood  of  the  thinker  ? 

And,  lazily,  in  his  happier  and  tender  present  mood  he 
tried  to  measure  once  again  the  cycles  of  past  discontent, 
this  time  in  terms  of  the  girl's  own  lifetime. 

It  is  bitter  in  misery  to  recall  past  misery — almost  as 
bitter,  for  all  Dante's  cry,  as  to  dwell  on  past  happiness. 
But,  be  the  past  really  dead,  and  a  new  and  better  life 
begun,  the  scanning  back  of  a  sombre  existence  done  with 
for  ever,  may  bring  with  it  a  kind  of  secret  complacency. 

Truly,  mused  Sir  Adrian,  for  one  who  ever  cherished 
ideal  aspirations,  for  the  student,  the  "  man  of  books  " 
(as  his  father  had  been  banteringly  wont  to  term  him), 
worshipper  of  the  muses,  intellectual  Epicurean,  and 
would-be  optimist  philosopher,  it  must  be  admitted  he  had 
strangely  dealt,  and  been  dealt  with,  since  he  first  beheld 
that  face,  now  returned  to  light  his  solitude  !  Ah,  God 
bless  the  child  !  Pulwick  at  least  nursed  it  warmly, 
whilst  unhappy  Adrian,  ragged  and  degraded  into  a  mere 
fighting  beast,  roamed  through  the  Marais  with  Chouan 
bands,  hunted  down  by  the  merciless  revolutionists,  like 
vermin  ;  falling,  as  months  of  that  existence  passed  over 
him,  from  his  high  estate  to  the  level  of  vermin  indeed  ; 
outlawed,  predatory,  cunning,  slinking,  filthy — trapped 
at  last,  the  fit  end  of  vermin  ! 

Scarcely  better  the  long  months  of  confinement  in  the 
hulks  of  Rochelle.  How  often  he  had  regretted  it,  then, 
not  to  have  been  one  of  the  chosen  few  who,  the  day  after 
capture,  stood  in  front  of  six  levelled  muskets,  and  were 
sped  to  rest  in  some  unknown  charnel  !  Then  ! — not 
now.  No,  it  was  worth  having  lived  to  this  hour,  to 
know  of  that  fair  face,  in  living  sleep  upon  his  pillow, 
under  the  safeguard  of  his  roof. 

Good  it  was,  that  he  had  escaped  at  last,  though  with 
the  blood  of  one  of  his  jailors  red  upon  his  hands  ;  the 
blood  of  a  perhaps  innocent  man,  upon  his  soul.  It  was 
the  only  time  he  had  taken  a  life  other  than  in  fair  fight, 
and  the  thought  of  it  had  been  wont  to  fill  him  with  a  sort 


72  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

of  nausea  ;  but  to-night,  he  found  he  could  face  it,  not 
only  without  remorse,  but  without  regret.  He  was  glad 
he  had  listened  to  Rene's  insidious  whispers — Rene,  who 
could  not  endure  the  captivity  to  which  his  master  might, 
in  time,  have  fallen  a  passive,  hopeless  slave,  and  yet 
who  would  have  faced  a  thousand  years  of  it  rather  than 
escape  alone — the  faithful  heart ! 

Yes,  it  was  good,  and  he  was  glad  of  it,  or  time  would 
not  have  come  when  she  (stay,  how  old  was  the  child 
then  ? — almost  three  years,  and  still  sheltered  and  cherished 
by  the  house  of  Landale) — when  she  would  return,  and 
gladden  his  eyes  with  a  living  sight  of  Cecile,  while  Rend 
watched  in  his  tower  above  ;  ay,  and  old  Margery  herself 
lay  once  more  near  the  child  she  had  nursed. 

Marvellous  turn  of  the  wheel  of  fate  ! 

But,  who  had  come  for  the  children,  and  where  had 
they  been  taken  .-'  To  their  motherland,  perhaps  ;  even 
it  might  have  been  before  he  himself  had  left  it ;  or  yet  to 
Ireland,  where  still  dwelt  kinsfolk  of  their  blood  ?  Probably 
it  was  at  the  breaking  up  of  the  family,  caused  by  the  death 
of  Sir  Thomas,  that  these  poor  little  birds  had  been  re- 
moved from  the  nest,  that  had  held  them  so  safe  and  close. 

That  was  in  '97,  in  the  yellow  autumn  of  which  year 
Adrian  Landale,  then  French  fisherman,  parted  from  his 
brother  Rend  I'Apotre  upon  the  sea  off  Belle  Isle  ;  parted 
one  grizzly  dawn  after  embracing,  as  brothers  should. 
Oh,  the  stealthy  cold  of  that  blank,  cheerless  daybreak, 
how  it  crept  into  the  marrow  of  his  bones,  and  chilled 
the  little  energy  and  spirits  he  had  left !  For  a  whole  year 
they  had  fruitlessly  sought  some  English  vessel,  to  con- 
vey this  English  gentleman  back  to  his  native  land.  He 
could  remember  how,  at  the  moment  of  separation,  from 
the  one  friend  who  had  loved  both  him  and  her,  his  heart 
sank  within  him — remember  how  he  clambered  from 
aboard  the  poor  little  smack,  up  the  forbidding  sides  of 
the  English  brig  ;  how  Rene's  broken  words  had  bidden 
God  bless  him,  and  restore  him  safely  home  (home  !) ; 
remember  how  swiftly  the  crafts  had  moved  apart,  the 
mist,  the  greyncss  and  dcsolateness  ;  the  lapping  of  the 
waters,  the  hoarse  cries  of  the  seamen,  all  so  full  of 
heart-piercing  associations  to  him,  and  the  last  vision  of 
Rent's  simple  face,  with  tears  pouring  down  it,  and  his 
open  mouth  spasmodically  trying  to  give  out  a  hearty 


THE  PATH  OF  WASTED  YEARS         73 

cheer,  despite  the  sobs  that  came  heaving  up  to  it.  How- 
little  the  simple  fellow  dreamed  of  what  bitterness  the 
future  was  yet  holding  for  his  brother  and  master,  to  end 
in  these  reunions  at  last ! 

The  vessel  which  had  taken  Adrian  Landale  on  board, 
in  answer  to  the  frantic  signals  of  the  fishing-smack,  that 
had  sailed  from  Belle  Isle  obviously  to  meet  her,  proved 
to  be  a  privateer,  bound  for  the  West  Indies,  but  cruising 
somewhat  out  of  her  way,  in  the  hope  of  outgoing  prizes 
from  Nantes. 

The  captain,  who  had  been  led  to  expect  something  of 
importance  from  the  smack's  behaviour,  in  high  dudgeon 
at  finding  that  so  much  bustle  and  waste  of  time  was  only 
to  burden  him  with  a  mere  castaway  seeking  a  passage 
home — one  who,  albeit  a  countryman,  was  too  ragged 
and  disreputable  in  looks  to  be  trusted  in  his  assurances 
of  reward — granted  him  indeed  the  hospitality  of  his  ship, 
but  on  the  condition  of  his  becoming  a  hand  in  the  com- 
pany during  the  forthcoming  expedition. 

There  was  a  rough  measure  of  equity  in  the  arrange- 
ment, and  Adrian  accepted  it.  The  only  alternative,  more- 
over, would  have  been  a  jump  overboard.  And  so  began 
a  hard  spell  of  life,  but  a  few  shades  removed  from  his 
existence  among  the  Chouan  guerillas  ;  a  predatory  cruise 
lasting  over  a  year,  during  which  the  only  changes  rung 
in  the  gamut  of  its  purpose  were  the  swooping  down,  as 
a  vulture  might,  upon  unprotected  ships  ;  flying  with 
superior  speed  from  obviously  stronger  crafts  ;  engaging, 
with  hawk-like  bravery,  everything  afloat  that  displayed 
inimical  colours,  if  it  offered  an  equal  chance  of  fight. 

And  this  for  more  than  a  year,  until  the  privateer,  much 
battered,  but  safe,  despite  her  vicissitudes  made  Halifax 
for  refitting.  Here,  at  the  first  suitable  port  she  had 
touched,  Adrian  claimed  and  obtained  his  release  from 
obligations  which  made  his  life  almost  unendurable. 

Then  ensued  a  period  of  the  most  absolute  penury  ; 
unpopular  with  most  of  his  messmates  for  his  melan- 
choly taciturnity,  despised  by  the  more  brutal  as  one  who 
had  as  little  stomach  for  a  carouse  as  for  a  bloody  fight, 
he  left  the  ship  without  receiving,  or  even  thinking  of 
his  share  of  prize-money.  And  he  had  to  support  exist- 
ence with  such  mean  mechanical  employment  as  came 
in  his  way,  till  an   opportunity  was  ofifered  of  engaging 


74  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

himself  as  seaman,  again  from  sheer  necessity,  on  a 
homeward-bound  merchantman — an  opportunity  which 
he  seized,  if  not  eagerly,  for  there  was  no  eagerness  left 
in  him,  yet  under  the  pressure  of  purpose. 

Next  the  long,  slowly  plodding,  toilsome,  seemingly 
eternal  course  across  the  ocean. 

But  even  a  convoy,  restricted  to  the  speed  of  its  slowest 
member,  if  it  escape  capture  or  natural  destruction,  must 
meet  the  opposite  shore  at  length,  and  the  last  year  of 
the  century  had  lapsed  in  the  even  race  of  time  when, 
after  many  dreary  weeks,  on  the  first  of  January  1801, 
the  long  low  lines  of  sandhills  on  the  Lancastrian  coast 
loomed  in  sight.  The  escort  drew  away,  swiftly  south- 
wards, as  if  in  joyful  relief  from  the  tedious  task,  leaving 
the  convoy  to  enter  the  Mersey,  safe  and  sound. 

That  evening  Adrian,  the  rough-looking  and  taciturn 
sailor,  set  foot,  for  a  short  while,  on  his  native  land,  after 
six  years  of  an  exile  which  had  made  of  him  at  five  and 
twenty  a  prematurely  aged  and  hopelessly  disillusioned 
man. 

And  Sir  Adrian,  as  he  mused,  wrapped  in  the  honoured 
fur  cloak,  with  eyes  half  closed,  by  his  sympathetic  fire, 
recalled  how  little  of  joy  this  return  had  had  for  him.  It 
was  the  goal  he  had  striven  to  reach,  and  he  had  reached 
it,  that  was  all  ;  nay,  he  recalled  how,  when  at  hand,  he 
had  almost  dreaded  the  actual  arrival  home,  dreaded, 
with  the  infinite  heart-sickness  of  sorrow,  the  emotions  of 
the  family  welcome  to  one  restored  from  such  perils  by 
flood  and  field — if  not  indeed  already  mourned  for  and 
forgotten — little  wotting  how  far  that  return  to  Pulwick, 
that  seemed  near  and  certain,  was  still  away  in  the  dim 
future  of  life. 

Yet,  but  for  the  fit  of  hypochondriacal  humour  which 
had  fallen  black  upon  him  that  day  of  deliverance  and 
made  him  yearn,  with  an  intensity  increasing  every 
moment,  to  separate  himself  from  his  repugnant  associates 
and  haste  the  moment  of  solitude  and  silence,  he  might 
have  been  rescued,  then  and  for  ever,  from  the  quagmire 
in  which  perverse  circumstances  had  enslaved  him. 

"Look'ee  here,  matey, "said  one  of  his  fellow-workers 
to  him,  in  a  transient  fit  of  good-fellowship  which  the 
prospect  of  ajiproaching  sprees  had  engendered  in  him 
even   towards  one  whom  all  on  board  had  felt  vaguely 


THE  PATH  OF  WASTED  YEARS         75 

to  be  of  a  different  order,  and  disliked  accordingly, 
"you  don't  seem  to  like  a  jolly  merchantman — but,  may- 
be, you  wouldn't  take  more  kindly  to  a  man-o'-war.  Do 
you  see  that  there  ship  ? — a  frigate  she  is  ;  and,  whenever 
there's  a  King's  ship  in  the  Mersey  that  means  that  it's 
more  wholesome  for  the  likes  of  us  to  lie  low.  You  take 
a  hint,  matey,  and  don't  be  about  Liverpool  to-night,  or 
until  she's  gone.  Now,  I  know  a  crib  that's  pretty  safe, 
Birkenhead  way  ;  Mother  Redcap's,  we  call  it — no  one's 
ever  been  nabbed  at  Mother  Redcap's,  and  if  you'll  come 
along  o'  me — why  then  if  you  won't,  go  your  way  and 
be  damned  to  you  for  a " 

This  was  the  parting  of  Adrian  Landale  from  his  fellow- 
workers.  The  idea  of  spending  even  one  night  more  in 
that  atmosphere  of  rum  and  filth,  in  the  intimate  hearing 
of  blasphemous  and  obscene  language,  was  too  repulsive 
to  be  entertained,  and  he  had  turned  away  from  the  offer 
with  a  gesture  of  horror. 

With  half  a  dozen  others,  in  whose  souls  the  attractions 
of  the  town  at  night  proved  stronger  than  the  fear  of  the 
press  party,  he  disembarked  on  the  Lancashire  side,  and 
separating  from  his  companions,  for  ever,  as  he  thought, 
ascended  the  miserable  lanes  leading  from  the  river  to 
the  upper  town. 

His  purpose  was  to  sleep  in  one  of  the  more  decent 
hotels,  to  call  the  next  day  for  help  at  the  banking-house 
with  which  the  Landales  had  dealt  for  ages  past,  and 
thence  to  take  coach  for  Pulwick.  But  he  had  planned 
without  taking  reck  of  his  circumstances.  No  hotel  of 
repute  would  entertain  this  weather-beaten  common 
sailor  in  the  meanest  of  work-stained  clothes.  After  fail- 
mg  at  various  places  even  to  obtain  a  hearing,  being 
threatened  with  forcible  ejectment,  derisively  referred  to 
suitable  cribs  in  Love  Lane  or  Tower  Street,  he  gave  up 
the  attempt ;  and,  in  his  usual  dejection  of  spirit,  intensi- 
fied by  unavowed  and  unreasonable  anger,  wandered 
through  the  dark  streets,  brooding.  Thus  aimlessly 
wandering,  the  remembrance  of  his  young  Utopian 
imaginings  came  back  to  him  to  mock  him.  Dreams  of 
universal  brotherhood,  of  equality,  of  harmony.  He  had 
already  seen  the  apostles  of  equality  and  brotherhood  at 
work — on  the  banks  of  the  Vilaine.  And  realising  how 
he  himself,  now  reduced  to  the  lowest  level  in  the  social 


76  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

scale,  hunted  with  insult  from  every  haunt  above  that 
level,  yet  loathed  and  abhorred  the  very  thought  of  asso- 
ciating again  with  his  recent  brothers  in  degradation,  he 
laughed  a  laugh  of  bitter  self-contempt. 

But  the  night  was  piercing  cold  ;  and,  in  time,  the 
question  arose  whether  the  stench  and  closeness  of  a  river- 
side eating-house  would  not  be  more  endurable  than  the 
cutting  wind,  the  sleet,  and  the  sharper  pangs  of  hunger. 

His  roaming  had  brought  him  once  more  to  that  quarter 
of  the  town  "  best  suited  to  the  likes  of  him,"  according 
to  the  innkeeper's  opinion,  and  he  found  himself  actually 
seeking  a  house  of  entertainment  in  the  slimy,  ill-lighted 
narrow  street,  when,  from  out  the  dimness,  running 
towards  him,  with  bare  feet  paddling  in  the  sludge,  came 
a  slatternly  girl,  with  unkempt  wisps  of  red  hair  hanging 
over  her  face  under  the  tartan  shawl. 

"Run,  run,  Jack,"  she  cried,  hoarsely,  as  she  passed 
by  breathless,    "  t'  gang's  comin' up.   ..." 

A  sudden  loathly  fear  seized  Adrian  by  the  heart.  He 
too,  took  to  his  heels  by  the  side  of  the  slut  with  all  the 
swiftness  his  tired  frame  could  muster. 

"I'm  going  to  warn  my  Jo,"  she  gasped,  as,  jostling 
each  other,  they  darted  through  a  maze  of  nameless  alleys. 

And  then  as,  spent  with  running,  they  emerged  at  last 
into  a  broader  street,  it  was  to  find  themselves  in  the  very 
midst  of  another  party  of  man-of-war's  men,  whose  brass 
belt-buckles  glinted  under  the  flickering  light  of  the  oil- 
lamp  swinging  across  the  way. 

Adrian  stopped  dead  short  and  looked  at  the  girl  in 
mute  reproach. 

"  May  God  strike  me  dead,"  she  screamed,  clapping 
her  hands  together,  "  if  I  knew  the  bloody  thieves  were 
there  !  Oh,  my  bonny  lad,  I  meant  to  save  ye  !  "  And 
as  her  words  rang  in  the  air  two  sailors  had  Adrian  by 
the  collar  and  a  facetious  bluejacket  seized  her  round  the 
waist  with  hideous  bantering. 

A  very  young  officer,  wrapped  up  in  a  cloak,  stood  a 
few  paces  apart  calmly  looking  on.  To  him  Adrian 
called  out  in  fierce,  yet  anguished,  expostulation  : 

"  I  am  a  free  and  independent  subject,  sir,  an  English 
gentleman.  I  demand  that  you  order  your  men  to  release 
me.  For  heaven's  sake,"  he  added,  pleadingly,  "give 
me  but  a  moment's  private  hearing  1  " 


THE  PATH  OF  WASTED  YEARS    'jj 

A  loud  guffaw  rang  through  the  group.  In  truth,  if 
appearances  make  the  gentleman,  Adrian  was  then  but  a 
sorry  specimen. 

The  officer  smiled — the  insufferable  smile  of  a  conceited 
boy  raised  to  authority. 

"  I  can  have  no  possible  doubt  of  your  gentility,  sir," 
he  said,  with  mocking  politeness,  and  measuring,  under 
the  glimmering  light,  first  the  prisoner,  from  head  to  foot, 
and  then  the  girl  who,  scratching  and  blaspheming,  vainly 
tried  to  make  her  escape  ;  "  but,  sir,  as  a  free-born  English 
gentleman,  it  will  be  your  duty  to  help  his  Majesty  to 
fight  his  French  enemies.  Take  the  English  gentleman 
along,  my  lads  !  " 

A  roar  of  approbation  at  the  officer's  facetiousness  ran 
through  the  party. 

"An'  his  mother's  milk  not  dry  upon  his  lips, "  cried  the 
girl,  with  a  crow  of  derisive  fury,  planting  as  she  spoke  a 
sounding  smack  on  a  broad  tanned  face  bent  towards  her. 
The  little  officer  grew  pink.  "Come,  my  men,  do  your 
duty,"  he  thundered,  in  his  deepest  bass. 

A  rage  such  as  he  never  had  felt  in  his  life  suddenly 
filled  Adrian's  whole  being.  He  was  a  bigger  man  than 
any  of  the  party,  and  the  rough  life  that  fate  had  imposed 
on  him,  had  fostered  a  strength  of  limb  beyond  the 
common.  A  thrust  of  his  knee  prostrated  one  of  his 
captors,  a  blow  in  the  eye  from  his  elbow  staggered  the 
other  ;  the  next  instant  he  had  snatched  away  the  cutlass 
which  a  third  was  drawing,  and  with  it  he  cleared,  for  a 
moment,  a  space  around  him. 

But  as  he  would  have  bounded  into  freedom,  a  felling 
blow  descended  on  his  head  from  behind,  a  sheet  of  flame 
spread  before  his  eyes,  and  behind  this  blaze  disappeared 
the  last  that  Adrian  Landale  was  to  see  of  England  for 
another  spell  of  years. 

When  he  came  back  to  his  senses  he  was  once  more  on 
board  ship — a  slave,  legally  kidnapped  ;  degraded  by  full 
and  proper  warrant  from  his  legitimate  status  for  no  crime 
that  could  even  be  invented  against  him  ;  a  slave  to  be  re- 
tained for  work  or  war  at  his  master's  pleasure,  liable 
like  a  slave  to  be  flogged  to  death  for  daring  to  assert  his 
right  of  independence. 

The  memory  of  that  night's  doing  and  of  the  odious  bond- 


78  ^THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

age  to  which  it  was  a  prelude,  rarely  failed  to  stir  the  gall 
of  resentment  in  Sir  Adrian  ;  men  of  peaceable  instincts 
are  perhaps  the  most  prone  to  the  feeling  of  indignation. 

But,  to-night,  a  change  had  come  over  the  spirit  of  his 
dreams  ;  he  could  think  of  that  past  simply  as  the  past — 
the  period  of  time  which  would  have  had  to  be  spent  until 
the  advent  of  the  wonder-working  present :  these  decrees 
of  Fate  had  had  a  purpose.  Had  the  past,  by  one  jot,  been 
different,  the  events  of  this  admirable  day  might  never 
have  been. 

The  glowing  edifice  on  the  hearth  collapsed  with  a 
darting  of  sudden  flame  and  a  rolling  of  red  cinders.  Sir 
Adrian  rose  to  rebuild  his  fire  for  the  night ;  and,  being 
once  roused,  was  tempted  by  the  ruddiness  of  the  wine, 
glinting  under  the  quiet  rays  of  the  lamp,  to  advance  to 
the  table  and  partake  of  his  forgotten  supper. 

The  calm  atmosphere,  the  warmth  and  quiet  of  the 
room,  in  which  he  broke  his  bread  and  sipped  his  wine, 
whilst  old  Jem  stretched  by  the  hearth  gazed  at  him  with 
yellow  up-turned  eyes  full  of  lazy  inquiry  concerning  this 
departure  from  the  usual  nightly  regularity  ;  the  serene 
placidity  of  the  scene  indoors  as  contrasting  with  the 
angry  voices  of  elements  without,  answered  to  the  peace — 
the  strange  peace — that  filled  the  man's  soul,  even  in  the 
midst  of  such  uncongenial  memories  as  now  rose  up 
before  him  in  vivid  concatenation. 

She  was  then  five  years  old.  Where  was  she,  when  he 
began  that  seemingly  endless  cruise  with  the  frigate 
Porcupine  P  He  tried  to  fancy  a  C^cile  five  years  old — a 
chubby,  curly-headed  mite,  nursing  dolls  and  teasing 
kittens,  whilst  he  was  bullied  and  browbeaten  by  coarse 
petty  officers,  shunned  and  hated  by  his  messmates,  and 
flogged  at  length  by  a  tyrannizing  captain  for  obduracy — 
but  he  could  only  see  a  Ce'cile  in  the  spring  of  woman- 
hood, nestling  in  the  arm-chair  yonder  by  the  fire  and 
looking  up  at  him  from  the  folds  of  a  fur  cloak. 

She  was  seven  years  old  when  he  was  flogged.  Ah, 
God  !  those  had  been  days  !  And  yet,  in  the  lofty  soul 
of  him  he  had  counted  it  no  disgrace  ;  and  he  had 
been  flogged  again,  ay,  and  a  third  time  for  that  obstinate 
head  that  would  not  bend,  that  obstinate  tongue  that 
would  persist  in  demanding  restitution  of  liberty.  The 
life  on  board  the  privateer  had  been  a  matter  of  bargain  ; 


THE  PATH  OF  WASTED  YEARS         79 

he  had  bartered  also  labour  and  obedience  with  the  mer- 
chantman for  the  passage  home,  but  the  king  had  no 
right  to  compel  the  service  of  a  free  man  I 

She  was  but  twelve  years  old  when  he  was  finally  re- 
leased from  thraldom — it  had  only  lasted  four  years  after 
all  ;  yet  what  a  cycle  for  one  of  his  temper  !  Four  years 
with  scarce  a  moment  of  solitude — for  no  shore-leave  was 
ever  allowed  to  one  who  openly  repudiated  any  service 
contract  :  four  years  of  a  life,  where  the  sole  prospect 
of  change  was  in  these  engagements,  orgies  of  carnage, 
so  eagerly  anticipated  by  officers  and  men  alike,  including 
himself,  though  for  a  reason  little  suspected  by  his  com- 
panions. But  even  the  historic  sea-fights  of  the  Porcupine, 
so  far  as  they  affected  Adrian  Landale,  formed  in  them- 
selves a  chain  of  monotony.  It  was  ever  the  same  hurl- 
ing of  shot  from  ship  to  ship,  the  same  fierce  exchange  of 
cutlass-throws  and  pike-pushes  between  men  who  had 
never  seen  each  other  before  ;  the  same  yelling  and  exe- 
crations, sights,  sounds,  and  smells  ever  the  same  in 
horror  ;  the  same  cheers  when  the  enemy's  colours  were 
lowered,  followed  by  the  same  transient  depression  ;  the 
cleansing  of  decks  from  stains  of  powder  and  mire  of 
human  blood,  the  casting  overboard  of  human  bodies 
that  had  done  their  life's  work,  broken  waste  and  other 
rubbish.  For  weeks  Adrian  after  would  taste  blood,  smell 
blood,  dream  blood,  till  it  seemed  in  his  nausea  that  all 
the  waters  of  the  wide  clean  seas  could  never  wash  the 
taint  from  him  again.  And  before  the  first  horrid  impres- 
sions had  time  to  fade,  the  next  occasion  would  have 
come  round  again  :  it  was  not  the  fate  of  Adrian  Landale 
that  either  steel  or  shot,  or  splintered  timber  or  falling 
tackles  should  put  an  end  to  his  dreary  life,  welcome  as 
such  an  end  would  have  been  to  him  then. 

Then  .  .  .  but  not  now.  Remembering  now  his  unac- 
countable escape  from  the  destruction  which  had  swept 
from  his  side  many  another  whose  eagerness  for  the  fray 
had  certes  not  sprung,  like  his  own,  from  a  desire  to  court 
destruction,  he  shuddered.  And  there  arose  in  his  mind 
the  trite  old  adage  : 

"  Man  proposeth  .  .  .  .  " 

God  had  disposed  otherwise. 


8o  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

It  was  not  destined  that  Adrian  Landale  should  be  shot 
on  the  high  seas  any  more  than  he  should  be  drowned  in 
the  rolling  mud  of  the  Vilaine — he  was  reserved  for  this 
day  as  a  set-off  to  all  the  bitterness  that  had  been  meted 
out  to  him  ;  he  was  to  see  the  image  of  his  dead  love  rise 
from  the  sea  once  more.  And,  meanwhile,  his  very  de- 
spair and  sullenness  had  been  turned  to  his  good.  It 
would  not  be  said,  if  history  should  take  count  of  the  fact, 
that  while  the  Lord  of  Pulwick  had  served  four  years 
before  the  mast,  he  had  ever  disgraced  his  name  by 
cowardice 

Whether  such  reasonings  were  in  accordance  even  with 
the  most  optimistic  philosophy.  Sir  Adrian  himself  at  other 
times  might  have  doubted.  But  he  was  tender  in  thought 
this  stormy  night,  with  the  grateful  relaxation  that  a 
happy  break  brings  in  the  midst  of  long-drawn  melancholy. 

Everything  had  been  working  towards  this  end — that 
he  should  be  the  light-keeper  ofScarthey  on  the  day  when 
out  of  the  raging  waters  Cdcile  would  rise  and  knock  and 
ask  for  succour  at  his  chamber. 

Cecile  !  pshaw  ! — raving  again. 

Well,  the  child  !  Where  was  she  on  the  cay  or  the  last 
engagement  of  that  pugnacious  Porcupine,  in  the  year 
1805,  when  England  was  freed  from  her  long  incubus  of 
invasion  ?     She  was  then  twelve. 

It  had  seemed  if  nothing  short  of  a  wholesale  disaster 
could  terminate  that  incongruous  existence  of  his. 

The  last  action  of  the  frigate  was  a  fruitless  struggle 
against  fearful  odds.  After  a  prolonged  fight  with  an 
enemy  as  dauntless  as  herself,  with  two-thirds  of  her 
ship's  company  laid  low,  and  commanded  at  length  by 
the  youngest  lieutenant,  she  was  tackled  as  the  sun  went 
low  over  the  scene  of  a  drawn  battle,  by  a  fresh  sail 
errant  ;  and,  had  it  not  been  for  a  timely  dismasting  on 
board  the  new-comer,  would  have  been  captured  or  finally 
sunk  then  and  there.  But  that  fate  was  only  held  in 
reserve  for  her.  Bleeding  and  disabled,  she  had  drawn 
away  under  cover  of  night  from  her  two  hard-hit  adver- 
saries, to  encounter  a  squall  that  further  dismantled  her, 
and,  in  such  forlorn  conditions,  was  met  and  finally  con- 
quered by  the  French  privateer  Espoir  de  Brest,  that 
pounced  upon  her  in  her  agony  as  the  vulture  upon  his 
prey. 


THE  PATH  OF  WASTED  YEARS         8i 

Among  the  remainder  of  the  once  formidable  crew,  now 
seized  and  battened  down  under  French  hatches,  was  of 
course  Adrian  Landale — he  bore  a  charmed  life.  And  for 
a  short  while  the  only  change  probable  in  his  prospects 
was  a  return  to  French  prisons,  until  such  time  as  it 
pleased  Heaven  to  restore  peace  between  the  two  nations. 

But  the  fortune  of  war,  especially  at  sea,  is  fickle  and 
fitful. 

The  daring  brig,  lettre  de  marque,  LEspoir  de  Brest, 
soon  after  her  unwonted  haul  of  English  prisoners,  was 
overtaken  herself  by  one  of  her  own  species,  the  St. 
Nicholas  of  Liverpool,  from  whose  swiftness  nothing  over 
the  sea,  that  had  not  wings,  could  hope  to  escape  if  she 
chose  to  give  the  chase. 

Again  did  Adrian,  from  the  darkness  among  his  fellow- 
captives,  hear  the  familiar  roar  and  crash  of  cannon  fight, 
the  hustling  and  the  thud  of  leaping  feet,  the  screams  and 
oaths  of  battle,  and,  finally,  the  triumphant  shouts  of 
English  throats,  and  he  knew  that  the  Frenchman  was 
boarded.  A  last  ringing  British  cheer  told  of  the  French- 
man's surrender,  and  when  he  and  his  comrades  were 
once  more  free  to  breathe  a  draught  of  living  air,  after 
the  deathly  atmosphere  under  hatches,  Adrian  learned 
that  the  victor  was  not  a  man-of-war,  but  a  free-lance,  and 
conceived  again  a  faint  hope  that  deliverance  might  be 
at  hand. 

It  was  soon  after  this  action,  last  of  the  fights  that 
Adrian  the  peace-lover  had  to  pass  through,  and  as  the 
two  swift  vessels,  now  sailing  in  consort,  and  under  the 
same  colours  cleaved  the  waters,  bound  for  the  Mersey, 
that  a  singular  little  drama  took  place  on  board  the  ^5- 
poir  de  Brest. 

Among  the  younger  officers  of  the  English  privateer, 
who  were  left  in  charge  of  the  prize,  was  a  lad  upon  whom 
Adrian's  jaded  eyes  rested  with  a  feeling  of  mournful 
sympathy,  so  handsome  was  he,  and  so  young ;  so  full 
of  hope  and  spirits  and  joy  of  life,  of  all,  in  fact,  of  which 
he  himself  had  been  left  coldly  bare.  Moreover,  the  ririg 
of  the  merry  voice,  the  glint  of  the  clear  eye  awakened  in 
his  memory  some  fitful  chord,  the  key  of  which  he  vainly 
sought  to  trace. 

One  day,  as  the  trim  young  lieutenant  stood  looking 
across  the  waters,  with, his  brave  eager  gaze  that  seeraed, 
6 


82  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

to  have  absorbed  some  of  the  blue-green  shimmer  of  the 
element  he  loved,  all  unnoting  the  haggard  sailor  at  his 
elbow,  a  sudden  flourish  of  the  spy-glass  which  he,  vi^ith 
an  eager  movement,  swung  up  to  bear  on  some  distant 
speck,  sent  his  watch  and  seals  flying  out  of  his  fob  upon 
the  deck  at  Adrian's  feet. 

Adrian  picked  them  up,  and  as  he  waited  to  restore 
them  to  their  owner,  who  tarried  some  time  intent  on  his 
distant  peering,  he  had  time  to  notice  the  coat  and  crest 
engraved  upon  one  of  the  massive  trinkets  hanging  from 
their  black  ribbons. 

When  at  last  the  officer  lowered  his  telescope,  Adrian 
came  forward  and  saluted  him  with  a  slight  bow,  all  un- 
consciously as  unlike  the  average  Jack  Tar's  scrape  to  his 
superior  as  can  be  well  imagined  : 

"Am  I  not,"  he  asked,  "addressing  in  you,  sir,  one  of 
the  Cochranes  of  the  Shaws  .<*  " 

The  question  and  the  tone  from  a  common  sailor  were, 
of  course,  enough  to  astonish  the  young  man.  But  there 
must  be  more  than  this,  as  Adrian  surmised,  to  cause  him 
to  blush,  wax  angry,  and  stammer  like  a  very  school-boy 
found  at  fault.      Speaking  with  much  sharpness  : 

"My  name  is  Smith,  my  man,"  cried  he,  seizing  his 
belongings,   "and  you — ^just  carry  on  with  that  coiling  !  " 

"And  my  name,  sir,  is  Adrian  Landale,  of  Pulwick 
Priory.  I  would  like  a  moment's  talk  with  you,  if  you 
will  spare  me  the  time.  The  Cochranes  of  the  Shaws  have 
been  friends  of  our  family  for  generations." 

A  guffaw  burst  from  a  group  of  Adrian's  mates  work- 
ing hard  by,  at  this  recurrence  of  what  had  become  with 
them  a  standing  joke  ;  but  the  officer,  who  had  turned  on 
his  heels,  veered  round  immediately,  and  stood  eyeing  the 
speaker  in  profound  astonishment. 

"Great  God,  is  it  possible  !  Did  you  say  you  were  a 
Landale  of  Pulwick  ?  How  the  devil  came  you  here  then, 
and  thus  ?  " 

"Press-gang,"  was  Adrian's  laconic  answer. 

The  lad  gave  a  prolonged  whistle,  and  was  lost  for  a 
moment  in  cogitation. 

"If  you  are  really  Mr.  Landale,"  he  began,  adding 
hastily,  as  if  to  cover  an  implied  admission — "of  course 
I  have  heard  the  name  :  it  is  well  known  in  Lancashire — 
you  had  better  see  the  skipper.     It  must  have  been  some 


THE  PATH  OF  WASTED  YEARS         83 

damnable  mistake  that  has  caused  a  man  of  your  stand- 
ing to  be  pressed." 

The  speaker  ended  with  almost  a  deferential  air  and 
the  smile  that  had  already  warmed  Adrian's  heart.  At 
the  door  of  the  Captain's  quarters  he  said,  with  the  sus- 
picion of  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  : 

"A  curious  error  it  was  you  made,  I  assure  you  my 
name  is  Smith — Jack  Smith,  of  Liverpool." 

"An  excusable  error,"    quoth   Adrian,    smiling   back, 
"for  one  of  your  seals  bear  unmistakably  the  arms  of 
Cochrane  of  the  Shaws,  doubtless  some  heirloom,  some 
inter-marriage." 

"No,  sir,  hang  it !  "  retorted  Mr.  Jack  Smith  of  Liver- 
pool, his  boyish  face  flushing  again,  and  as  he  spoke  he 
disengaged  the  trinket  from  its  neighbours,  and  jerked  it 
pettishly  overboard,  "  I  know  nothing  of  your  Shaws  or 
your  Cochranes." 

And  then  he  rapped  loudly  at  the  cabin-door,  as  if 
anxious  to  avoid  further  discussion  or  comment  on  the 
subject. 

The  result  of  the  interview  which  followed — interview 
during  which  Adrian  in  a  few  words  overcame  the  skip- 
per's scepticism,  and  was  bidden  with  all  the  curiosity 
men  feel  at  sea  foT  any  novelty,  to  relate,  over  a  bottle  of 
wine,  the  chain  of  his  adventures — was  his  passing  from 
the  forecastle  to  the  officers'  quarters,  as  an  honoured 
guest  on  board  the  S/.  Nicholas,  during  the  rest  of  her 
cruise. 

Thinking  back  now  upon  the  last  few  weeks  of  his  sea- 
going life,  Sir  Adrian  realised  with  something  of  wonder 
that  he  had  always  dwelt  on  them  without  dislike.  They 
were  gilded  in  his  memory  by  the  rays  of  his  new  friend- 
ship. 

And  yet  that  this  young  Jack  Smith  (to  keep  for  him 
the  nondescript  name  he  had  for  unknown  reasons  chosen 
to  assume)  should  be  the  first  man  to  awaken  in  the  mis- 
anthropic Adrian  the  charm  of  human  intercourse,  was 
singular  indeed  ;  one  who  followed  from  choice  the  odious 
trade  of  legally  chartered  corsair,  who  was  ever  ready  to 
barter  the  chance  of  life  and  limb  against  what  fortune 
might  bring  in  his  path,  to  sacrifice  human  life  to  secure 
his  own  end  of  enrichment. 

Well,  the  springs  of  friendship  are  to  be  no  more  dis- 


84  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

cerned  than  those  of  love  ;  there  was  none  of  high  or  low 
degree,  with  the  exception  of  Rene,  whose  appearance  at 
any  time  was  so  welcome  to  the  recluse  upon  his  rock,  as 
that  of  the  privateersman. 

And  so,  turning  to  his  friend  in  to-night's  softened 
mood,  Sir  Adrian  thought  gratefully  that  to  him  it  was 
that  he  owed  deliverance  from  the  slavery  of  the  King's 
service,  that  it  was  Jack  Smith  who  had  made  it  possible 
for  Adrian  Landale  to  live  to  this  great  day  and  await  its 
coming  in  peace. 

The  old  clock  struck  two  ;  and  Jem  shivered  on  the 
rug  as  the  light-keeper  rose  at  length  from  the  table  and 
sank  in  his  armchair  once  more. 

Visions  of  the  past  had  been  ever  his  companions  ; 
now  for  the  first  time  came  visions  of  the  future  to  com- 
mingle with  them.  As  if  caught  up  in  the  tide  of  his 
visitor's  bright  young  life,  it  seemed  as  though  he  were 
passing  at  length  out  of  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of 
death. 

Rene,  coming  with  noiseless  bare  feet,  in  the  angry 
yellow  dawn  of  the  second  day  of  the  storm,  to  keep  an 
eye  on  his  master's  comfort,  found  him  sleeping  in  his 
chair  with  a  new  look  of  rest  upon  his  face  and  a  smile 
upon  his  lips. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  GENEALOGICAL  EPISTLE 

....  and  braided  thereupon 
All  the  devices  blazoned  on  the  shield, 
In  their  own  tinct,  and  added,  of  her  wit, 
A  border  fantasy  of  branch  and  flower. 

Idylls  of  the  King. 

PuLWiCK  Priory,  the  ancestral  home  of  the  Cumbrian 
Landales,  a  dignified  if  not  overpoweringly  lordly  man- 
sion, rises  almost  on  the  ridge  of  the  green  slope  which 
connects  the  high  land  with  the  sandy  strand  of  More- 
cambe  ;  overlooking  to  the  west  the  great  brown  breezy 
bight,  whilst  on  all  other  sides  it  is  sheltered  by  its 
wooded  park. 

When  the  air  is  clear,  from  the  east  window  of  Scarthey 
keep,  the  tall  garden  front  of  greystone  is  visible,  in  the 
extreme  distance,  against  the  darker  screen  of  foliage  ; 
whitely  glinting  if  the  sun  is  high  ;  golden  or  rosy  at  the 
end  of  day. 

As  its  name  implies,  Pulwick  Priory  stands  on  the  site 
of  an  extinct  religious  house ;  its  oldest  walls,  in  fact, 
were  built  from  the  spoils  of  once  sacred  masonry.  It  is 
a  house  of  solid  if  not  regular  proportions,  full  of  un- 
expected quaintness  ;  showing  a  medley  of  distinct  styles, 
in  and  out  ;  it  has  a  wide  portico  in  the  best  approved 
neo-classic  taste,  leading  to  romantic  oaken  stairs  ;  here 
wide  cheerful  rooms  and  airy  corridors,  there  sombre 
vaulted  basements  and  mysterious  unforeseen  nooks. 

On  the  whole,  however,  it  is  a  harmonious  pile  of  build- 
ings, though  gathering  its  character  from  many  different 
centuries,  for  it  has  been  mellowed  by  time,  under  a  hard 
climate.  And  it  was,  in  the  days  of  the  pride  of  the 
Landales,  a  most  meet  dwelling-place  for  that  ancient 
race,  insomuch  as  the  history  of  so  many  of  their  ances- 
tors   was  written  successively  upon  stone  and  mortar, 

85 


86  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

brick  and  tile,  as  well  as  upon  carved  oak,  canvas-decked 
vi^alls,  and  emblazoned  windows. 

Exactly  one  week  before  the  disaster,  which  was  sup- 
posed to  have  befallen  Mademoiselle  Molly  de  Savenaye 
on  Scarthey  sands,  the  acting  Lord  of  Pulwick,  if  one 
may  so  term  Mr.  Rupert  Landale,  had  received  a  letter, 
the  first  reading  of  which  caused  him  a  vivid  annoyance, 
followed  by  profound  reflection. 

A  slightly-built,  dark-visaged  man,  this  younger  brother 
of  Sir  Adrian,  and  vicarious  master  of  his  house  and 
lands  ;  like  to  the  recluse  in  his  exquisite  neatness  of 
attire,  somewhat  like  also  in  the  mould  of  his  features, 
which  were,  however,  more  notably  handsome  than  Sir 
Adrian's  ;  but  most  unlike  him,  in  an  emphasised  arti- 
ficiality of  manner,  in  a  restless  and  wary  eye,  and  in 
the  curious  twist  of  a  thin  lip  which  seemed  to  give  hid- 
den sarcastic  meaning  even  to  the  most  ordinary 
remark. 

As  now  he  sat  by  his  desk,  his  straight  brows  drawn 
over  his  amber-coloured  eyes,  perusing  the  closely  writ- 
ten sheets  of  this  troublesome  missive,  there  entered  to 
him  the  long  plaintive  figure  of  his  maiden  sister,  who 
had  held  house  for  him,  under  his  own  minute  directions, 
ever  since  the  death  in  premature  child-birth  of  his  young 
year-wed  wife. 

Miss  Landale,  the  eldest  of  the  family,  had  had  a  dis- 
appointment in  her  youth,  as  a  result  of  which  she  now 
played  the  ungrateful  role  of  old  maid  of  the  family.  She 
suffered  from  chronic  toothache,  as  well  as  from  repressed 
romantic  aspirations,  and  was  the  anie  damnee  of  Rupert. 
One  of  the  most  melancholy  of  human  beings,  she  was 
tersely  characterised  by  the  village  folk  as  a  '■'wummicky 
poor  thing." 

At  the  sight  of  Mr.  Landale's  weighted  brow  she 
propped  up  her  own  long  sallow  face,  upon  its  aching 
side,  with  a  trembling  hand,  and,  full  of  agonised  pre- 
science, ventured  to  ask  if  anything  had  happened. 

"Sit  down,"  said  her  brother,  with  a  sort  of  snarl — He 
possessed  an   extremely  irritable  temper  under  his  cooL 
sarcastic  exterior,   a  temper  which  his   peculiar   anoma- 
lous circumstances,    whilst  they  combined  to  excite  it, 
forced  him  to  conceal  rigidly  from  most,  and  it  was  a 


A  GENEALOGICAL  EPISTLE  87 

relief  to  him  to  let  it  out  occasionally  upon  Sophia's  meek, 
ringleted  head. 

Sophia  collapsed  with  hasty  obedience  into  a  chair, 
and  then  Mr.  Landale  handed  to  her  the  thin  fluttering 
sheets,  voluminously  crossed  and  re-crossed  with  fine 
Italian  handwriting  : 

"From  Tanty,"  ejaculated  Miss  Sophia,  "Oh  my  dear 
Rupert !  " 

"Read  it,"  said  Rupert  peremptorily.  "Read  it 
aloud." 

And  throwing  himself  back  upon  his  chair,  he  shaded 
his  mouth  with  one  flexible  thin  hand,  and  prepared  him- 
self to  listen. 

"Camden  Place,  Bath,  October  29th,"  read  the  maiden 
lady  in  those  plaintive  tones,  which  seemed  to  send  out 
all  speech  upon  the  breath  of  a  sigh.  "  My  Dear  Rupert, 
— You  will  doubtless  be  astonished,  but  your  invariably 
affectionate  Behaviour  towards  myself  inclines  me  to 
believe  that  you  will  also  be  pleased  to  hear,  from  these 
few  lines,  that  very  shortly  after  their  receipt — if  indeed 
not  before — you  may  expect  to  see  me  arrive  at  Pulwick 
Priory." 

Miss  Landale  put  down  the  letter,  and  gazed  at  her 
brother  through  vacant  mists  of  astonishment. 

"  Why,  I  thought  Tanty  said  she  would  not  put  foot  in 
Pulwick  again  till  Adrian  returned  home." 

Rupert  measured  the  innocent  elderly  countenance 
with  a  dark  look.  He  had  sundry  excellent  reasons, 
other  than  mere  family  affection,  for  remaining  on  good 
terms  with  his  rich  Irish  aunt,  but  he  had  likewise  rea- 
sons, these  less  obvious,  for  wishing  to  pay  his  devoirs 
to  her  anywhere  but  under  the  roof  of  which  he  was 
nominal  master. 

"She  has  found  it  convenient  to  change  her  mind," 
he  said,  with  his  twisting  lip.  "  Constancy  in  your  sex, 
my  dear,  is  merely  a  matter  of  convenience — or  oppor- 
tunity." 

"Oh  Rupert!"  moaned  Sophia,  clasping  the  locket 
which  contained  her  dead  lover's  hair  with  a  gesture  with 
which  all  who  knew  her  were  very  familiar.  Mr.  Landale 
never  could  resist  a  thrust  at  the  faithful  foolish  bosom 
always  ready  to  bleed  under  his  stabs,  yet  never  resent- 
ing them.     Inexplicable  vagary  of  the  feminine  heart ! 


88  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

Miss  Sophia  worshipped  before  the  shrine  of  her  younger 
brother,  to  the  absolute  exclusion  of  any  sentiment  for 
the  elder,  whose  generosity  and  kindness  to  her  were  yet 
as  great  as  was  Rupert's  tyranny. 

"Go  on,"  said  the  latter,  alternately  smiling  at  his 
nails  and  biting  them,  '' Tanty  O'Donoghue  observes  that 
I  shall  be  surprised  to  hear  that  she  will  arrive  very 
shortly  after  this  letter,  if  not  before  it.  Poor  old  Tanty, 
there  can  be  no  mistake  about  her  nationality.  Have  the 
kindness  to  read  straiglit  on,  Sophia.  I  don't  want  to 
hear  any  more  of  your  interesting  comments.  And  don't 
stop  till  you  have  finished,  no  matter  how  amazed  you 

It 

are. 

Again  he  composed  himself  to  listen,  while  his  sister 
plunged  at  the  letter,  and,  after  several  false  starts,  found 
her  place  and  proceeded  : 

"Since,  owing  to  his  most  tcn/ortunaie  peculiarity  of 
Temperament  and  consequent  strange  choice  of  abode,  I 
cannot  apply  to  my  nephew  Adrian,  a  qui  de  droit  (as 
Head  of  the  House)  I  must  needs  address  myself  to  you, 
my  dear  Rupert,  to  request  hospitality  for  myself  and  the 
two  young  Ladies  now  under  my  Charge." 

The  letter  wavered  in  Miss  Sophia's  hand  and  an  ex- 
clamation hung  upon  her  lip,  but  a  sudden  movement  of 
Rupert's  exquisite  crossed  legs  recalled  her  to  her  task. 

"These  young  ladies  are  Mesdemoiselles  de  Save?iaye, 
and  the  daughters  of  Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Savenaye, 
who  was  my  sister  Mary's  child.  She  and  I,  and  Alice 
your  mother,  were  sister  co-heiresses  as  you  know,  and 
therefore  these  young  ladies  are  7fiy  grand-nieces  and 
your  own  cousins  once  removed.  Of  Cdcile  de  Savenaye, 
her  strange  adventures  and  ultimate  sad  Fate  in  which 
your  own  brother  was  implicated,  you  cannot  but  have 
heard,  but  you  may  probably  have  forgotten  even  to  the 
very  existence  of  these  charming  young  women,  who  were 
nevertheless  born  at  Puhvick,  and  whom  you  must  at 
some  time  or  other  have  beheld  as  infants  during  your 
excelle?it  and  lamented  father's  lifetime.  They  are,  as  you 
are  doubtless  also  unaware — for  I  have  remarked  a  grow- 
ing Tendency  in  the  younger  generations  to  neglect  the 
study  of  Genealogy,  even  as  it  affects  their  own  Families 
— as  well  born  on  the  father's  side  as  upon  the  maternal. 
M.  de  Savenaye  bore  argent  a  la  fasce-canton  d'hermitie. 


A  GENEALOGICAL  EPISTLE  89 

with  an  augmentation  0/ the  fleurs  de  lis  d'or,  cleft  in  twain 
for  his  ancestor's  memorable  deed  at  the  siege  of  Dinan." 

"There  is  Tante  O'Donog-hue  fully  displayed,  haut 
volante  as  she  might  say  herself,"  here  interrupted  Mr. 
Landale  with  a  laugh.  "Always  the  same,  evidently. 
The  first  thing  I  remember  about  her  is  her  lecturing  me 
on  genealogy  and  heraldry,  when  I  wanted  to  go  fishing, 
till,  school-boy  rampant  as  I  was,  I  heartily  wished  her 
impaled  and  debruised  on  her  own  Donoghue  herse 
proper.  For  God's  sake,  Sophia,  do  not  expect  me  to 
explain  !     Go  on. " 

"  He  was  entitled  to  eighteen  quarters,  and  related  to 
such  as  Coucy  and  Armagnac  and  Tavannes,"  proceeded 
Miss  Sophia,  controlling  her  bewilderment  as  best  she 
might,  "also  to  Gwynne  of  Llanadoc  in  this  kingdom — 
Honours  to  which  Mesdemoiselles  de  Savenaye,  being 
sole  heiresses  both  of  Kermelegan  and  Savenaye,  not  to' 
speak  of  their  own  mother's  share  of  O'Donoghue,  which 
now-a-days  is  of  greater  substance — are  personally  en- 
titled. 

"  If  I  am  the  sole  Relative  they  have  left  in  these 
Realms,  Adrian  and  you  are  the  next.  I  have  had  the 
charge  of  my  two  young  Kinswomen  during  the  last  six 
months,  that  is  since  they  left  the  Convent  des  Dames 
Anglaises  in  Jersey. 

"  Now,  I  think  it  is  time  that  your  Branch  of  the  Fam- 
ily should  incur  the  share  of  the  responsibility  your 
relationship  to  them  entails. 

"  If  Adrian  were  as  and  where  he  should  be,  I  feel  sure 
he  would  embrace  this  opportunity  of  doing  his  duty  as 
the  Head  of  the  House  without  the  smallest  hesitation, 
and  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  would  offer  the  hospitality  of 
Pulwick  Priory  and  his  Protection  to  these  amiable  young 
persons  for  as  long  as  they  remain  unmarried. 

"From  you,  my  dear  Nephew,  who  have  undertaken 
under  these  melancholy  family  circumstances  to  fill  your 
Brother's  place,  I  do  not,  however,  expect  so  much  ;  all 
I  ask  is  that  you  and  my  niece  Sophia  be  kind  enough  to 
shelter  and  entertain  your  cousins  for  the  space  of  two 
months,  while  I  remain  at  Bath  for  the  benefit  of  my 
Health. 

"  At  my  age  (for  it  is  of  no  use,  nephew,  for  us  to  deny 
our  years  when   any  Peerage  guide  must  reveal  them 


90  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

pretty  closely  to  the  curious),  and  I  am  this  month  pass- 
in<^^  sixty-nine,  at  my  age  the  charge  of  two  high-spirited 
young  Females,  in  whom  conventual  education  has  failed 
to  subdue  Aspirations  for  worldly  happiness  whilst  it  has 
left  them  somewhat  inexperienced  in  the  Conventions  of 
Society,  I  find  a  liille  tryitig.  It  does  not  harmonise  with 
the  retired,  peaceful  existence  to  which  I  am  accustomed 
(and  at  my  time  of  life,  I  think,  entitled),  in  which  it  is 
my  humble  endeavour  to  wean  myself  from  this  earth 
which  is  so  full  of  Emptiness  and  to  prepare  myself  for 
that  other  and  better  Home  into  which  we  must  all  resign 
ouselves  to  enter.  And  happy,  indeed,  my  dear  Rupert, 
such  of  us  as  will  be  found  worthy  ;  for  come  to  it  we  all 
must,  and  the  longer  we  live,  the  sooner  we  may  expect 
to  do  so. 

"The  necessity  of  producing  them  in  Society,  is,  how- 
ever, rendered  a  matter  of  greater  responsibility  by  the 
fact  of  the  Jiandsome  Fortunes  which  these  young 
creatures  possess  already,  not  to  speak  of  their  expec- 
tations." 

Rupert,  who  had  been  listening  to  his  aunt's  letter, 
through  the  intermediary  of  Miss  Sophia's  depressing 
sing-song,  with  an  abstracted  air,  here  lifted  up  his  head, 
and  commanded  the  reader  to  repeat  this  last  passage. 
She  did  so,  and  paused,  awaiting  his  further  pleasure, 
while  he  threw  his  handsome  head  back  upon  his  chair, 
and  closed  his  eyes  as  if  lost  in  calculations. 

At  length  he  waved  his  hand,  and  Miss  Sophia  pro- 
ceeded after  the  usual  floundering  : 

"A  neighbour  of  mine  at  Bunratty,  Mrs.  Hambledon  of 
Brianstown,  a  lively  widow  (herself  one  of  the  Macnamaras 
of  the  Reeks,  and  thus  a  distant  connection  of  the 
Ballinasloe  branch  of  O'Donoghues),  and  whom  I  had 
reason  to  believe  I  could  trust — but  I  will  not  anticipate 
— took  a  prodigious  fancy  to  Miss  Molly  and  proposed, 
towards  the  beginning  of  the  Autumn,  carrying  her  away 
to  Dublin.  At  the  same  time  the  wet  summer,  producing 
in  me  an  acute  recurrence  of  that  Affection  from  which, 
as  you  know,  I  suffer,  and  about  which  you  never  /ail  io 
make  such  kind  Enquiries  at  Christmas  and  Easter,  com- 
pelled me  to  call  in  Mr.  O'Mally,  the  apothecary,  who 
has  been  my  very  obliging  medical  adviser  for  so  many 
years,    and   who   strenuously    advocated   an    immediate 


A  GENEALOGICAL  EPISTLE  91 

course  of  waters  at  Bath.  In  short,  my  dear  Nephew, 
thus  the  matter  was  settled,  your  cousin  Molly  departed 
radiant  with  good  spirits,  and  good  looks  for  a  spell  of 
gayety  in  Dublin,  while  your  cousin  Madeleine,  prepared 
(with  equal  content)  to  accompany  her  old  aunt  to  Bath. 
It  being  arranged  with  Mrs.  Hambledon  that  she  should 
herself  conduct  Molly  to  us  later  on. 

"  We  have  been  here  about  three  weeks.  Though  per- 
suaded by  good  Mr.  O'Mally  that  the  waters  would  ben- 
efit my  old  bones,  I  was  actuated,  I  must  confess,  by 
another  motive  in  seeking  this  Fashionable  Resort.  In 
such  a  place  as  this,  thronged  as  it  is  by  all  the  Rank  and 
Family  of  England,  one  can  at  least  know  who  is  who, 
and  I  was  not  without  hopes  that  my  nieces,  with  their 
faces,  their  name,  and  their  fortunes,  would  have  the 
opportunity  of  contracting  suitable  Alliances,  and  thus 
relieve  me  of  a  charge  for  which  I  am,  I  fear,  little  fitted. 

"But,  alas  !  my  dear  Rupert,  I  was  most  woefully  mis- 
taken. Bath  is  distinctly  not  the  place  for  two  beautiful 
and  unsophisticated  Heiresses,  and  I  am  certainly  neither 
possessed  of  the  Spirits,  nor  of  the  Health  to  guard  them 
from  fortune-hunters  and  needy  nameless  Adventurers. 
While  it  is  my  desire  to  impress  upon  you,  and  my  niece 
Sophia,  that  the  conduct  of  these  young  ladies  has  been 
quite  beyond  reproach,  I  will  not  conceal  from  you  that 
the  attentions  of  a  certain  person,  of  the  name  of  Smith, 
known  here,  and  a  favorite  in  the  circles  of  frivolity  and 
fashion  as  Captaiti  Jack,  have  already  made  Madeleine 
conspicuous,  and  although  the  dear  girl  conducts  herself 
with  the  utmost  propriety,  there  is  an  air  of  Romance 
and  mystery  about  the  Young  Man,  not  to  speak  of  his 
unmistakable  good  looks,  which  have  determined  me  to 
remove  her  from  his  vicinity  before  her  Affections  be 
irreparably  engaged.  As  for  Molly,  v>'ho  is  a  thorough 
O'Donoghue  and  the  image  of  her  grandmother,  that 
celebrated  Murthering  Moll  (herself  the  toast  of  Bath  in 
our  young  days),  whose  elopement  with  the  Marquis 
de  Kermelegan,  after  he  had  killed  an  English  rival  in 
a  duel,  was  once  a  nine-days'  wonder  in  this  very  town, 
and  of  whom  you  must  have  heard,  Mrs.  Hambledon 
restored  her  to  my  care  only  three  days  ago,  and  she 
has  already  twenty  Beaux  to  her  String,  though  favour- 
ing   nobody,    I    am  bound  to  say,   but  her  own  amuse- 


92  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

ment.  Yesterday  she  departed  under  Mrs.  Hambledon's 
chaperonage,  in  the  Company  of  a  dozen  of  the  highest 
in  rank  here,  on  an  expedition  to  Clifton  ;  the  while  my 
demure  Madeleine  spends  the  day  at  the  house  of  her 
dear  friend  Lady  Maria  Harewood,  whither,  I  only  learnt 
upon  her  return  at  ten  o'clock  under  his  escort,  Captain 
Jack — in  my  days  that  sort  of  captain  would  have  been 
strongly  suspected,  of  having  a  shade  too  much  of  the 
Heath  or  the  London  Road  about  him — had  likewise  been 
convened.  It  was  long  after  midnight  when,  with  a 
great  tow-row,  a  coach  full  of  very  merry  company 
(amongst  whom  the  widow  Hambledon  struck  me  as 
over-merry,  perhaps)  landed  my  other  Miss  sur  le  perron. 

"This  has  decided  me.  We  shall  decamp  saws  tam- 
bour ni  trompette.  To-morrow,  without  allowing  discus- 
sion from  the  girls  (in  which  I  should  probably  be 
worsted),  we  pack  ourselves  into  my  travelling  coach, 
and  find  our  Way  to  you.  But,  until  we  are  fairly  on 
the  Road,  I  shall  not  even  let  these  ladies  know  whither 
we  are  bound. 

"With  your  kind  permission,  then,  I  shall  remain  a 
few  days  at  Pulwick,  to  recruit  from  the  fatigues  of 
such  a  long  Journey,  before  leaving  your  fair  cousins 
in  your  charge,  and  in  that  of  the  gentle  Sophia  (whom 
I  trust  to  entertain  them  with  something  besides  her 
usual  melancholy),  till  the  time  comes  for  me  to  bring 
them  back  with  me  to  Bunratty. 

"Unless,  therefore,    you  should  hear  to  the  contrary, 

you  will  know  that  on  Tuesday  your  three  unprotected 

female  relatives  will  be  hoping  to  see    your    travelling 

carriage  arrive  to  fetch  them  at  the  Crown  in  Lancaster. 

"  Your  Affectionate  Aunt, 

"Rose  O'Donoghue." 

As  Miss  Landale  sighed  forth  the  concluding  words, 
she  dropped  the  little  folio  on  her  lap,  and  looked  at  her 
brother  with  a  world  of  apprehension  in  her  faded  eyes. 

"Oh,  Rupert,  what  shall  we  do.'" 

"Do,"  said  Mr.  Landale.  quickly  turning  on  her,  out 
of  his  absorption,  ' '  you  will  kindly  see  that  suitable  rooms 
are  prepared  for  your  aunt  and  cousins,  and  you  will  en- 
deavour, if  you  please,  to  show  these  ladies  a  cheerful 
countenance,  as  your  aunt  requests." 


A  GENEALOGICAL  EPISTLE  93 


(( ' 


The  oak  and  the  chintz  rooms,  I  suppose,"  Sophia 
timidly  suggested.  "  Tanty  used  to  say  she  liked  the 
aspect,  and  I  daresay  the  young  ladies  will  find  it  pleas- 
ant to  look  out  on  the  garden." 

"Ay,"  returned  Rupert,  absently.  He  had  risen  from 
his  seat,  and  fallen  to  pacing  the  room.  Presently  a  short 
laugh  broke  from  him.  "  Tolerably  cool,  I  must  say,"  he 
remarked,  "tolerably  cool.  It  seems  to  be  a  tradition 
with  that  Savenaye  family,  when  in  difficulties,  to  go  to 
Pulwick." 

Miss  Landale  looked  up  with  relief.  Perhaps  Rupert 
would  think  better  of  it,  and  make  up  his  mind  to  elude 
receiving  the  unwelcome  visitors  after  all.  But  his  next 
speech  dashed  her  budding  hopes. 

"Ay,  as  in  the  days  of  their  mother  before  them,  when 
she  came  here  to  lay  her  eggs,  like  a  cuckoo  in  another 
bird's  nest — I  wish  they  had  been  addled,  I  do  indeed — 
we  may  expect  to  have  the  whole  place  turned  topsy-turvy, 
I  suppose.  It  is  a  pretty  assortment,  faith  (asTanty  says 
herself)  ;  an  old  papist,  and  two  young  ones,  fresh  from  a 
convent  school — and  of  these,  one  a  hoyden,  and  the  other 
lovesick  !  Faugh  !  Sophia  you  will  have  to  keep  your 
eyes  open  when  the  old  lady  is  gone.  I'll  have  no  un- 
seemly pranks  in  this  house." 

"Oh,  Rupert,"  with  a  moan  of  maidenly  horror,  and 
conscious  incompetence. 

"Stop  that,"  cried  the  brother,  with  a  contained  inten- 
sity of  exasperation,  at  which  the  poor  lady  jumped  and 
trembled  as  if  she  had  been  struck,  "All  your  whining 
won't  improve  matters.  Now  listen  to  me,"  sitting  down 
beside  her,  and  speaking  slowly  and  impressively,  "  you 
are  to  make  our  relatives  feel  welcome,  do  you  under- 
stand ?  Everything  is  to  be  of  the  best.  Get  out  the  em- 
broidered sheets,  and  see  that  there  are  flowers  in  the 
rooms.  Tell  the  cook  to  keep  back  that  haunch  of  venison, 
the  girls  won't  like  it,  but  the  old  lady  knows  a  good  thing 
when  she  gets  it — let  there  be  lots  of  sweet  things  for  the 
young  ones  too,  I  shall  be  giving  some  silver  out  this 
afternoon.  I  leave  it  to  you  to  see  that  it  is  properly 
cleaned.  What  are  you  mumbling  about  to  yourself? 
Write  it  down  if  you  can't  remember,  and  now  go,  go — 
I  am  busy." 


PART  II 

'*MURTHERING  MOLL  THE  SECOND" 


Then  did  the  blood  awaken  in  the  veins 

0/  the  young  maiden  wandering  in  the  fields. 

Luteplayer's  Song. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  THRESHOLD  OF  WOMANHOOD 

Onward  floweth  the  water,  onward  through  meadows  broad, 
•*  How  happy,"  the  meadows  say,  "  art  thou  to  be  rippling  onward." 
"  And  my  heart  is  beating,  beating  beneath  my  girdle  here  ; '' 
"  O  Heart,"  the  girdle  saith,  "  how  happy  art  thou  that  thou  beatest." 

Luteplayer^s  Song. 

Dublin,  October  i^/h,  1814. — This  day  do  I,  Molly  de 
Savenaye,  begin  my  diary. 

Madeleine  writes  to  me  from  Bath  that  she  has  pur- 
chased a  very  fine  book,  in  which  she  intends  to  set  forth 
each  evening  all  that  has  happened  her  since  the  morn- 
ing- ;  she  advises  me  to  do  so  too.  She  says  that  since 
real  life  has  begun  for  us ;  life,  of  which  every  succeeding 
day  is  not,  as  in  the  convent,  the  repetition  of  the  previous 
day,  but  brings  some  new  discovery,  pleasure,  or  pain, 
we  ought  to  write  down  and  preserve  their  remembrance. 

It  will  be  so  interesting  for  us  to  read  when  a  new  life 
once  more  begins  for  us,  and  we  are  married.  Besides  it 
is  WiQ  fashion,  and  all  the  young  ladies  she  knows  do  it. 
And  she  has,  she  says,  already  plenty  to  write  down. 
Now  I  should  like  to  know  what  about. 

When  ought  one  to  start  such  a  record .''  Surely  not  on 
a  day  like  this. 

"  Why  </e;;zwe"  (as  Mrs.  Hambledon's  nephew  says), 
"  what  the  deyvil  have  I  got  to  say  }  " 

Item  :  I  went  out  shopping  this  morning  with  Mrs. 
Hambledon,  and,  bearing  Madeleine's  advice  in  mind, 
purchased  at  Kelly's,  in  Sackville  Street,  an  album  book, 
bound  in  green  morocco,  with  clasp  and  lock,  which  Mr. 
Kelly  protests  is  quite  secure. 

Item.:  We  met  Captain  Segrave  of  the  Royal  Dragoons 
(who  was  so  attentive  to  me  at  Lady  Rigtoun's  rout,  two 
days  ago).  He  looked  very  well  on  his  charger,  but  how 
conceited  !     When  he  saw  me,  he  rolled   his  eyes  and 

97 


98  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

grew  quite  red ;  and  then  he  stuck  his  spurs  into  his 
horse,  that  we  might  admire  how  he  could  sit  it ;  which 
he  did,  indeed,  to  perfection. 

Mrs.  Hambledon  looked  vastly  knowing,  and  I  laughed. 
If  ever  I  try  to  fancy  myself  married  to  such  a  man  1  can- 
not help  laughing. 

This,  however,  is  not  diary. — lieyji  :  We  returned  home 
because  it  began  to  rain,  and  to  pass  the  time,  here  am  I 
at  my  book. 

But  is  this  the  sort  of  thing  that  will  be  of  interest  to 
read  hereafter?  I  have  begun  too  late ;  I  should  have 
written  in  those  days  when  I  saw  the  dull  walls  of  our 
convent  prison  for  the  last  time.  It  seems  so  far  back 
now  (though,  by  the  calendar  it  is  hardly  six  months), 
that  I  cannot  quite  recall  how  it  felt  to  live  in  prison. 
And  yet  it  was  not  unhappy,  and  there  was  no  horror  in 
the  thought  we  both  had  sometimes  then,  that  we  should 
pass  and  end  our  lives  in  the  cage.  It  did  not  strike  us 
as  hard.  It  seemed,  indeed,  in  the  nature  of  things.  But 
the  bare  thought  of  returning  to  that  existence  now,  to 
resume  the  placid  daily  task,  to  fold  up  again  like  a  plant 
that  has  once  expanded  to  sun  and  breeze,  to  have  never 
a  change  of  scene,  of  impression,  to  look  forward  to  noth- 
ing but  suhrnission,  sleep,  and  death  ;  oh,  it  makes  me 
turn  cold  all  over ! 

And  yet  there  are  women  who,  of  their  own  will,  give 
up  \\iQ  freedom  of  (he  world  to  enter  a  convent  a/ter  they 
have  tasted  life  !  Oh,  I  would  rather  be  the  poorest,  the 
ugliest  peasant  hag,  toiling  for  daily  bread,  than  one  of 
these  cold  cloistered  souls,  so  that  the  free  air  of  heaven, 
be  it  with  the  winds  or  the  rain,  might  beat  upon  me,  so 
that  I  might  live  and  love  as  I  like,  do  right  as  1  like  ;  ay, 
and  do  wrong  if  I  liked,  with  the  free  will  which  is  my 
cwn. 

We  were  told  that  the  outer  world,  with  all  its  sorrows 
and  trials,  and  dangers — how  I  remember  the  Reverend 
Mother's  words  and  face,  and  how  they  impressed  me 
then,  and  how  I  should  laugh  at  them,  now  I — that  the 
world  was  but  a  valley  of  tears.  We  were  warned  that 
all  that  awaited  us,  if  we  left  the  fold,  was  misery  ;  that 
the  joys  of  this  world  were  hitter  to  the  taste,  its  pleasures 
hollow,  and  its  griefs  lasting. 

We  believed  it.     And  yet,  when  the  choice  was  actually 


THE  THRESHOLD  OF  WOMANHOOD      99 

ours  to  make,  we  chose  all  we  had  been  taught  to  dread 
and  despise.  Why  ?  I  wonder.  For  the  same  reason  as 
Eve  ate  the  apple,  I  suppose.  I  would,  if  I  had  been  Eve. 
I  almost  wish  I  could  go  back  now,  for  a  day,  to  the  cool 
white  rooms,  to  see  the  nuns  flitting  about  like  black  and 
white  ghosts,  with  only  a  jingle  of  beads  to  warn.one  of 
their  coming,  see  the  blue  sky  through  the  great  bare 
windows,  and  the  shadows  of  the  trees  lengthening  on  the 
cold  flagged  floors,  hear  the  bells  going  ding-dong,  ding- 
dong,  and  the  murmur  of  the  sea  in  the  distance,  and  the 
drone  of  the  school,  and  the  drone  of  the  chapel,  to  go 
back,  and  feel  once  more  the  dull  sort  of  content,  the 
calmness,  the  rest  ! 

But  no,  no  !  I  should  be  trembling  all  the  while  lest 
the  blessed  doors  leading  back  to  that  horrible  world 
should  never  open  to  me  again. 

The  sorrows  and  trials  of  the  world  !  I  suppose  the 
Reverend  Mother  really  meant  it ;  and  if  I  had  gone  on 
living  there  till  my  face  was  w^rinkled  like  hers,  poor 
woman,  I  might  have  thought  so  too,  in  the  end,  and 
talked  the  same  nonsense. 

Was  it  really  I  that  endured  such  a  life  for  seventeen 
years  ?  O  God  !  I  wonder  that  the  sight  of  the  swallows 
coming  and  going,  the  sound  of  the  free  waves,  did  not 
drive  me  mad.  Twist  as  I  will  my  memory,  I  cannot 
recall  /^a/ Molly  of  six  months  ago,  whose  hours  and  days 
passed  and  dropped  all  alike,  all  lifeless,  just  like  the  slow 
tac,  tac,  tac  of  our  great  horloge  in  the  Refectory,  and 
were  to  go  on  as  slow  and  as  alike,  for  ever  and  ever,  till 
she  was  old,  dried,  wrinkled,  and  then  died.  The  real 
Molly  de  Savenaye's  life  began  on  the  April  morning 
when  that  dear  old  turbaned  fairy  godmother  of  ours  car- 
ried us,  poor  little  Cinderellas,  away  in  her  coach.  Well 
do  I  remember  my  birthday. 

I  have  read  since  in  one  of  those  musty  books  of 
Bunratty,  that  moths  and  hutttrflies  come  to  life  by  shak- 
ing themselves  out,  one  tine  day,  from  a  dull-looking, 
shapeless,  ugly  thing  they  call  a  grub,  in  which  they  have 
been  buried  for  a  long  time.  They  unfold  their  wings 
and  fly  out  in  the  sunshine,  and  flit  from  flower  to  flower, 
and  they  look  beautiful  and  happy — the  world,  the  wicked 
world,  is  open  to  them. 

There  were  pictures  in  the  book  ;  the  ugly  grub  below. 


loo  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

dreary  and  brown,  and  the  lovely  buUerfly  in  all  its  colours 
above,  I  showed  them  to  Madeleine,  and  said:  "Look, 
Madeleine,  as  we  were,  and  as  we  are." 

And  she  said  :  "Yes,  those  brown  gowns  they  made 
us  wear  were  ugly  ;  but  I  should  not  like  to  put  on  any- 
thing so  bright  as  red  and  yellow.     Would  you  ?  " 

That  is  the  worst  of  Madeleine  ;  she  never  realises  in 
the  least  what  I  mean.  And  she  does  love  her  clothes  ; 
that  is  the  difference  between  her  and  me,  she  loves  fine 
things  because  they  are  fine  and  dainty  and  all  that — I 
like  them  because  they  make  me  fine. 

And  yet,  how  she  did  weep  when  she  left  the  convent. 
Madeleine  would  have  made  a  good  nun  after  all  ;  she 
does  so  hate  anything  ugly  or  coarse.  She  grows  quite 
white  if  she  hears  people  fighting  ;  if  there  is  a  "  row  "  or 
a  "shindy,"  as  they  say  here.  Whereas  Tanty  and  I 
think  it  all  the  fun  in  the  world,  and  would  enjoy  joining 
in  the  fray  ourselves,  I  believe,  if  we  dared.  1  know  / 
should  ;  it  sets  my  blood  tingling.  But  Madeleine  is  a 
real  princess,  a  sort  of  Ermine ;  and  yet  she  enjoys  her 
new  life,  too,  the  beauty  of  it,  the  refinement,  being  waited 
upon  and  delicately  fed  and  clothed.  But  although  she 
has  ceased  to  weep  for  the  convent,  if  it  had  npt  been  for 
me  she  would  be  there  still.  The  only  thing,"  I  believe, 
that  could  make  me  weep  now  would  be  to  find  one  fine 
morning  that  this  had  only  been  a  dream,  and  that  I  was 
once  more  the  grub  !  To  find  that  I  could  not  open  my 
window  and  look  into  the  wide,  wide  world  over  to  the 
long,  green  hills  in  the  distance,  and  know  that  I  could 
wander  or  gallop  up  to  them,  as  I  did  at  Bunratty,  and 
see  for  myself  what  lies  beyond — surely  that  was  a  taste 
of  heaven  that  day  when  Tanty  Rose  first  allowed  me  to 
mount  her  old  pony,  and  I  flew  over  the  turf  with  the 
wind  whistling  in  my  ears — to  find  that  I  could  not  go 
out  when  I  pleased  and  hear  new  voices  and  see  new 
faces,  and  men  and  women  -who  live  each  their  own  life,  and 
not  the  same  life  as  mme. 

When  I  think  of  what  I  am  now,  and  what  I  might 
have  remained,  I  breathe  deep  and  feel  like  singing ;  I 
stretch  my  arms  out  and  feel  like  flying. 

Our  aunt  told  us  she  thought  Bunratty  would  be  dull 
for  us,  and  so  it  was  in  comparison  with  this  place. 
Perhaps  this  is  dull  in   comparison  with  what  may  come. 


THE  THRESHOLD  OF  WOMANHOOD     loi 

For  good  Tanty,  as  she  likes  us  to  call  her,  is  intent  on 
doing  great  things  for  us. 

"Je  vous  marierai,"  she  tells  us  in  her  funny  old 
French,  *' Je  vous  marierai  bien,  mes  falles,  si  vous  etes 
sages,"  and  she  winks  both  eyes. 

Marriage  I  That,  it  is  quite  evident,  is  the  goal  of  every 
properly  constituted  young  female  ;  and  every  respect- 
able person  who  has  the  care  of  said  young  female  is 
consequently  bent  upon  her  reaching  that  goal. 

So  marriage  is  another  good  thing  to  look  forward  to. 
And  love,  that  love  all  the  verses,  all  the  books  one  reads 
are  so  full  of ;  that  will  come  to  us. 

They  say  that  love  is  life.  Well,  all  I  want  is  to  live. 
But  with  a  grey  past  such  as  we  have  had,  the  present  is 
good  enough  to  ponder  upon.  We  now  can  lie  abed  if 
we  have  sweet  dreams  and  pursue  them  waking,  and  be 
lazy,  yet  not  be  troubled  with  the  self-indulgence  as  with 
an  enormity  ;  or  we  can  rise  and  breathe  the  sunshine 
at  our  own  time.  We  can  be  frivolous,  and  yet  meet  with 
smiles  in  response,  dress  our  hair  and  persons,  and  be 
pleased  with  ourselves,  and  with  being  admired  or  envied, 
yet  not  be  told  horrid  things  about  death  and  corruption 
and  skeletons.  And,  above  all — oh,  above  all,  we  can 
think  of  the  future  as  different  from  the  past,  as  changing, 
be  it  even  for  the  worse  ;  as  unknown  and  fascinating, 
not  as  a  repetition,  until  death,  of  the  same  dreary 
round. 

In  Mrs.  Hambledon's  parlour  here  are  huge  glasses  at 
either  end ;  whenever  you  look  into  them  you  see  a 
never-ending  chain  of  rooms  with  yourself  standing  in 
the  middle,  vanishing  in  the  distance,  every  one  the  same, 
with  the  same  person  in  the  middle,  only  a  little  smaller, 
a  little  more  insignificant,  a  little  darker,  till  it  all  be- 
comes nothing.  It  always  reminds  me  of  life's  prospects 
in  the  convent. 

I  dislike  that  room.  When  I  told  Mrs.  Hambledon  the 
reason  why,  she  laughed,  and  promised  me  that,  with 
my  looks  and  disposition,  my  life  would  be  eventful 
enough.     I  have  every  mind  that  it  shall. 

October  \Zth. — Yesterday,  I  woke  up  in  an  amazing  state 
of  happiness,  though  for  no  particular  reason  that  I  can 
think  of.     It  could  not  be  simply  because  we  were  to  go 


I02  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

out  for  a  visit  to  the  country  and  see  new  people  and 
places,  for  I  have  already  learned  to  find  that  most  new 
people  are  cut  out  on  the  same  pattern  as  those  one 
already  knows.  It  must  have  been  rather  because  I 
awoke  under  the  impression  of  one  of  my  lovely  dreams 
— such  dreams  as  I  have  only  had  since  I  left  my  grub 
state  ;  dreams  of  space,  air,  long,  long  views  of  beautiful 
scenery,  always  changing,  always  wider,  such  as  swallows 
flying  between  sky  and  earth  might  see,  under  an  ex- 
quisite and  brilliant  light,  till  for  very  joy  I  wake  up,  my 
cheeks  covered  with  tears. 

This  time,  I  was  sitting  on  the  prow  of  some  vessel 
with  lofty  white  sails,  and  it  was  cutting  through  the 
water,  blue  as  the  sky,  with  wreaths  of  snow-like  foam, 
towards  some  unknown  shores,  ever  faster  and  faster,  and 
I  was  singing  to  some  one  next  to  me  on  the  prow — some 
one  I  did  not  know,  but  who  felt  with  me — singing  a  song 
so  perfect,  so  sweet  (though  it  had  no  human  words)  that 
I  thought  it  €xplai7ied  all :  the  blue  of  the  heaven,  the 
freshness  of  the  breeze,  the  fragrance  of  the  earth,  and 
why  we  were  so  eagerly  pressing  onwards.  I  thought 
the  melody  was  such  that  when  once  heard  it  could  never 
be  forgotten.  When  I  woke  it  still  rang  in  my  ears,  but 
now  I  can  no  more  recall  it.  How  is  it  we  never  know 
such  delight  in  waking  hours  ?  Is  that  some  of  the  joy  we 
are  to  feel  in  Heaven,  the  music  we  are  to  hear  .''  And  yet 
it  can  be  heard  in  this  life  if  one  only  knew  where  to  go 
and  listen.  And  this  life  is  beautiful  which  lies  in  front 
of  us,  though  they  would  speak  of  it  as  a  sorrowful  span 
not  to  be  reckoned.  It  is  good  to  be  young  and  think  of 
the  life  still  to  come.  Every  moment  is  precious  for  its 
enjoyment,  and  yet  sometimes  I  find  that  one  only  knows 
of  a  pleasure  when  it  is  just  gone.  One  ought  to  try  and 
be  more  awake  at  each  hour  to  the  happiness  it  may 
bring.      I  shall  try,  and  you,  my  diary,  shall  help  me. 

This  is  really  tio  diary-keeping.  It  is  not  a  bit  like 
those  one  reads  in  books.  It  ought  to  tell  of  other  people 
and  the  events  of  each  day.  But  other  people  are  really 
very  uninteresting;  as  for  events,  well,  so  far,  they  are 
uninteresting  too  ;  it  is  only  what  they  cause  to  spring 
up  in  our  hearts  that  is  worth  thinking  upon  ;  and  that  is 
so  difficult  to  put  in  words  that  mostly  I  spend  my  time 
merely  pondering  and  not  writing. 


THE  THRESHOLD  OF  WOMANHOOD     103 

Last  night  Mrs.  Hambledon  took  me  to  the  play.  It 
was  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  and  I  was  full  of  curiosity. 
It  was  a  long  drama,  pretty  enough  and  sometimes  very 
exciting.  But  I  could  see  that  though  the  actress  was 
very  handsome  and  mostly  so  unhappy  as  to  draw  tears 
from  the  spectators,  there  were  people,  especially  some 
gentlemen,  who  were  more  interested  in  looking  at  the 
box  where  I  sat  with  Mrs.  Hambledon.  Indeed,  I  could 
not  pretend,  when  I  found  myself  before  my  glass  that 
night,  that  I  was  not  amazingly  prettier  than  that  Mrs. 
Colebrook,  about  whose  beauty  the  whole  town  goes  mad. 

When  I  recalled  the  hero's  ravings  about  his  Matilda's 
eyes  and  cheeks,  and  her  foot  and  her  sylph-like  waist, 
and  her  raven  hair,  I  wondered  what  that  young  man 
would  say  of  me  if  he  were  my  lover  and  I  his  persecuted 
mistress.  The  Matilda  was  a  pleasing  person  enough  ; 
but  if  I  take  her  point  by  point,  it  would  be  absurd  to 
speak  of  her  charms  in  the  same  breath  with  mine.  Oh, 
my  dear  Molly,  how  beautiful  I  thought  you  last  night ! 
How  happy  I  should  be,  were  I  a  dashing  young  lover  and 
eyes  Ukejyours  smiled  on  me.  I  never  before  thought 
myself  prettier  than  Madeleine,  but  now  I  do. 

Lovers,  love,  mistress,  bride  ;  they  talked  of  nothing 
else  in  the  play.  And  it  was  all  ecstasy  in  their  words, 
and  nothing  but  misery  in  fact  (j'^st  as  the  Reverend 
Mother  would  have  had  it). 

The  young  man  who  played  the  hero  was  a  very  fine 
fellow ;  and  yet  when  I  conceive  him  making  love  to  me 
as  he  did  last  night  to  Mrs.  Colebrook,  the  notion  seems 
really  too  ludicrous  ! 

What  sort  of  man  then  is  it  I  would  allow  to  love  me? 
I  do  not  mind  the  thought  of  lovers  sighing  and  burning 
for  me  (as  some  do  now  indeed,  or  pretend  to)  I  like  to 
feel  that  I  can  crush  them  with  a  frown  and  revive  them 
with  a  smile  ;  I  like  to  see  them  fighting  for  my  favour. 
But  to  give  a  man  the  right  to  love  me,  the  right  to  my 
smiles,  the  right  to  me!  Indeed,  I  have  yet  seen  none 
who  could  make  me  bear  the  thought. 

And  yet  I  think  that  I  could  love,  and  I  know  that 
the  man  that  I  am  to  love  must  be  living  somewhere 
till  fate  brings  him  to  me.  He  does  not  think  of  me.  He 
does  not  know  of  me.  And  neither  of  us,  I  suppose,  will 
taste  life  as  life  is  till  the  day  when  we  meet 


I04  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

Camden  Place,  Bath,  November  is/. — Bath  at  last,  which 
must  please  poor  Mrs.  Hambledon  exceeding-ly,  for  she 
certainly  did  no/  enjoy  the  transit.  I  cannot  conceive 
how  people  can  allow  themselves  to  be  so  utterly  dis- 
traught by  illness.  I  feel  I  can  never  have  any  respect 
for  her  again  ;  she  moaned  and  lamented  in  such 
cowardly  fashion,  was  so  peevish  all  the  time  on  board 
the  vessel,  and  looked  so  very  begrimed  and  untidy  and 
p/ai'n  when  she  was  carried  out  on  Bristol  quay.  The 
captain  called  it  dtr/j/  weather,  but  I  thought  it  lovely, 
and  I  don't  think  I  ever  enjoyed  myself  more — except 
when  Captain  Segrave's  Black  Douglas  ran  away  with  me 
in  Phoenix  Park. 

It  was  beautiful  to  see  our  brave  boat  plough  the  sea 
and  quiver  with  anger,  as  if  it  were  a  living  thing,  when 
it  was  checked  by  some  great  green  wave,  then  gather 
itself  again  under  the  wind  and  dash  on  to  the  fight,  until 
it  conquered.  And  when  we  came  into  the  river  and  the 
sun  shone  once  more  it  glided  on  swiftly,  though  looking 
just  a  little  tired  for  a  while  until  its  decks  and  sails  were 
dry  and  clean  again,  and  I  thought  it  was  just  like  a  bird 
that  has  shaken  and  plumed  itself.  I  was  sorry  to  leave 
it.  The  captain  and  the  mate  and  the  sailors,  who  had 
wrapped  me  up  in  their  great,  stiff  tarpaulin  coats  and 
placed  me  in  a  safe  corner  where  I  could  sit  out  and  look, 
were  also  sorry  that  I  should  go. 

But  it  was  good  to  be  with  Madeleine  again  and  Tanty 
Donoghue,  who  always  has  such  a  kind  smile  on  her  old 
wrinkled  face  when  she  looks  at  me. 

Madeleine  was  astonished  when  I  told  her  I  had  loved 
the  storm  at  sea  and  when  I  mimicked  poor  Mrs.  Ham- 
bledon. She  says  she  also  thought  she  was  dying,  so  ill 
was  she  on  her  crossing,  and  that  she  was  quite  a  week 
before  she  got  over  the  impression. 

It  seems  odd  to  think  that  we  are  sisters,  and  twin  sis- 
ters too  ;  in  so  many  things  she  is  different  from  me. 
She  has  changed  in  manner  since  I  left  her.  She  seems 
so  absorbed  in  some  great  thought  that  all  her  words  and 
smiles  have  little  meaning  in  them.  I  told  her  I  had  tried 
to  keep  my  diary,  but  had  not  done  much  work,  and  when 
I  asked  to  see  hers  (for  a  model)  Madeleine  blushed,  and 
said  I  should  see  it  this  day  year. 

Madeleine  is  in  love  ;  that  is  the  only  way  I  can  account 


THE  THRESHOLD  OF  WOMANHOOD     105 

for  that  blush.  I  fear  she  is  a  sly  puss,  but  there  is  such 
a  bustle  around  us,  and  so  much  to  do  and  see,  I  have  no 
time  to  make  her  confess.  So  I  said  I  would  keep  mine 
from  her  for  that  period  also. 

It  seems  a  long  span  to  look  ahead.  What  a  number 
of  things  will  happen  before  this  day  year  I 

Bath,  November  yd. — Bath  is  delightful !  I  have  only 
been  here  two  days,  and  already  I  am  whatTanty,  in  her 
old-fashioned  way,  calls  the  belle.  Already  there  are  a 
dozen  sparks  who  declare  that  my  eyes  have  shot  death 
to  them.  This  afternoon  comes  my  Lord  of  Manning- 
ham,  nicknamed  King  of  Bath,  to  "drink  a  dish  of  tea," 
as  he  has  it,  with  his  "  dear  old  friend  Miss  O'Donoghue." 

Tanty  has  been  here  three  weeks,  and  he  has  only  just 
discovered  her  existence,  and  remembered  their  tender 
friendship.  Of  course,  I  know  very  well  what  has  really 
brought  him.  He  is  Lord  Dereham's  grandfather  on  the 
mother's  side,  and  Lord  Dereham,  who  is  the  son  of  the 
Duke  of  Wells,  is  "the catch,"  as  Mrs.  Hambledon  vows, 
of  the  fashionable  world  this  year.  And  Lord  Dereham 
has  seen  me  twice,  and  is  in  love  iviih  me. 

But  as  Lord  Dereham  is  more  like  a  little  white  rat  than 
a  man,  and  swears  more  than  he  converses — which  would 
be  very  shocking  if  it  were  not  for  his  lisp,  which  makes 
it  very  funny — needless  to  say,  my  diary  dear,  your  Molly 
is  not  in  love  with  him — He  has  no  chance. 

And  so  Lord  Manningham  comes  to  tea,  and  Tanty 
orders  me  to  remain  and  see  her  "  old  friend"  instead  of 
going  to  ride  with  the  widow  Hambledon.  The  widow 
Hambledon  and  I  are  everywhere  together,  and  she  knows 
all  the  most  entertaining  people  in  Bath,  whereas  Made- 
leine, whom  I  have  hardly  seen  at  all  except  at  night, 
when  I  am  so  dead  tired  that  I  go  to  sleep  as  soon  as  my 
head  touches  the  pillow  (I  vow  Tanty's  manner  of  speech 
is  catching).  Miss  Madeleine  keeps  to  her  own  select  circle, 
and  turns  up  her  haughty  little  nose  at  my  friends. 

So  now  Madeleine  is  punished,  for  Tanty  and  I  have 
had  the  honour  of  receiving  the  King  of  Bath,  and  I  have 
been  vouchsafed  the  stamp  of  his  august  approval. 

"  My  dear  Miss  O'Donoghue,"  he  cried,  as  I  curtsied, 
"do  my  senses  deceive  me,  or  do  I  not  once  more  behold 
Murthering  Moll  ?  " 


io6  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

"  I  thought  you  could  not  fail  to  notice  the  likeness  ;  my 
niece  is,  indeed,  a  complete  O'Donoghue,"  says  Tanty, 
amazingly  pleased. 

' '  Likeness,  ma'am, "  cried  the  old  wretch,  bowing  again, 
and  scattering  his  snuff  all  over  the  place,  while  I  sweep 
him  another  splendid  curtsey,  "  likeness,  ma'am,  why  this 
is  no  feeble  copy,  no  humble  imitation,  'tis  Murdering 
Moll  herself,  and  glad  I  am  to  see  her  again."  And  then 
he  catches  me  under  the  chin,  and  peers  into  my  face  with 
his  dim,  wicked  old  eyes.  "And  so  you  are  Murdering 
Moll's  daughter,"  says  he,  chuckling  to  himself.  "Ay, 
she  and  I  were  very  good  friends,  my  pretty  child,  very 
good  friends,  and  that  not  so  long  ago,  either.  Ay, 
Mater  pulchra,  film  pulchrior. " 

"But  I  happen  to  be  her  grand-daughter,  please  my 
lord,"  said  I,  and  then  I  ran  to  fetch  him  a  chair  (for  I 
was  dreadfully  afraid  he  was  going  to  kiss  me).  But 
though  no  one  has  ever  accused  me  of  speaking  too 
modestly  to  be  heard,  my  lord  had  a  sudden  fit  of  deaf- 
ness, and  I  saw  Tanty  give  me  a  little  frown,  while  the 
old  thing — he  must  be  much  older  than  Tanty  even — tot- 
tered into  a  chair,  and  went  on  mumbling. 

"  I  was  only  a  boy  in  those  days,  my  dear,  only  a  boy, 
as  your  good  aunt  will  tell  you.  I  can  remember  how 
the  bells  rang  the  three  beautiful  Irish  sisters  into  Bath, 
and  I  and  the  other  dandies  stood  to  watch  them  drive 
by.  The  bells  rang  in  the  belles  in  those  days,  my  dear, 
he,  he,  he  !  only  we  used  to  call  them  '  toasts  '  then,  and 
your  mother  was  the  most  beautiful  of  '  the  three  Graces  ' 
— we  christened  them  '  the  three  Graces  ' — and  by  gad  she 
led  us  all  a  pretty  dance  !  " 

"Ah,  my  lord,"  says  Tanty,  and  I  could  see  her  old 
eyes  gleam  though  her  tone  was  so  pious,  "I  fear  we 
were  three  wild  Irish  girls  indeed  ! " 

Lord  Manningham  was  too  busy  ogling  me  to  attend  to 
her. 

"  Your  mother  was  just  such  another  as  you,  and  she 
had  just  such  a  pair  of  dimples,"  said  he. 

"You  mean  my  grandmother,"  shouted  I  in  his  ear, 
just  for  fun,  though  Tanty  looked  as  if  she  were  on  pins 
and  needles.  But  he  only  pinched  my  cheek  again  and 
went  on  : 

' '  Before  she  had  been  here  a  fortnight  all  the  bucks  in  the 


THE  THRESHOLD  OF  WOMANHOOD     107 

town  were  at  her  feet.  And  so  was  I,  so  was  I.  Only,  by 
gad,  I  was  too  young,  you  know,  as  Miss  O'Donoghue  here 
will  tell  you.  But  she  liked  me  ;  she  used  to  call  me  her 
'  little  manny.'  I  declare  I  might  have  married  her,  only 
there  were  family  reasons,  and  I  was  such  a  lad,  you  know. 
And  then  Jack  Waterpark,  some  of  us  thought  she  would 
have  had  hi7n  in  the  end — being  an  Irishman,  and  a  rich 
man,  and  a  marquis  to  boot — he  gave  her  the  name  of 
Murthering  Moll,  because  of  her  killing  eyes,  young  lady — 
he  !  he  !  he  ! — and  there  was  Ned  Cuffe  ready  to  hang 
himself  for  her,  and  Jim  Denham,  and  old  Beau  Vernon, 
ay,  and  a  score  of  others.  And  then  one  night  at  the 
Assembly  Rooms,  after  the  dancing  was  over  and  we 
gay  fellows  were  all  together,  up  gets  Waterpark,  he  was 
a  little  tipsy,  my  dear,  and  by  gad  I  can  hear  him  speak 
now,  with  that  brogue  of  his,  '  Boys,  he  says,  '  it's  no 
use  your  trying  for  her  any  more,  for  by  God  Fve  won  her' 
And  out  of  his  breast-pocket  he  pulls  a  little  knot  of  blue 
ribbon.  Your  mother,  my  dear,  had  worn  a  very  fine 
gown  that  evening,  with  little  knots  of  blue  ribbon  all 
over  the  bodice  of  it.  The  words  were  not  out  of  his 
mouth  when  Ned  Cuffe  starts  to  his  feet  as  white  as  a 
sheet :  '  It's  a  damned  lie,'  he  cries,  and  out  of  his  pocket 
he  pulls  another  little  knot.  'She  gave  it  to  me  with  her 
own  hands,'  he  cried  and  glares  round  at  us  all.  And 
then  Vernon  bursts  out  laughing  and  flourishes  a  third 
little  bow  in  our  eyes,  and  I  had  one  too,  I  need  not  tell 
you,  and  so  had  all  the  rest,  all  save  a  French  fellow — I 
forget  his  name — and  it  was  he  she  had  danced  with  the 
most  of  all.  Ah,  Miss  O'Donoghue,  how  the  little  jade's 
eyes  sparkle  1  I  warrant  you  have  never  told  her  the  story 
for  fear  she  would  want  to  copy  her  mother  in  other  ways 
besides  looks — Hey  ?  Well,  my  pretty,  give  me  your  Httle 
hand,  and  then  I  shall  go  on — pretty  little  hand,  um — um 
— um  ! "  and  then  he  kissed  my  hand,  the  horrid,  snuffy- 
thing  !  but  I  allowed  it,  for  I  did  so  want  to  hear  how  it 
all  ended. 

'^  And  then,  and  then,"  I  said. 

"And  then,  my  dear,  this  French  fellow,  your  papa  he 
must  have  been — so  I  suppose  I  must  not  abuse  him,  and 
he  was  a  very  fine  young  man  after  all,  and  a  man  of 
honour  as  well — he  stood  and  cursed  us  all." 

"'You   English   fools,'   he    said,    'you    braggards — 


io8  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

cowards."  And  he  seized  a  glass  of  wine  from  the  table 
and  with  a  sweep  he  dashed  it  at  us  and  ended  by  fling- 
ing the  empty  glass  in  Lord  Waterpark's  face.  It  was  the 
neatest  thing  you  ever  saw,  for  we  all  got  a  drop  except 
Waterpark,  and  he  got  the  glass.  'I  challenge  you  all,' 
said  the  Frenchman,  '  I'll  fight  you  one  by  one,  and  I  shall 
have  her  into  the  bargain.'  And  so  he  did,  my  dear,  he 
fought  us  all,  one  after  the  other  ;  there  were  five  of  us  ; 
he  was  a  devil  with  the  sword,  but  Ned  Cuffe  ran  him 
through  for  all  that — and  he  was  a  month  getting  over  it, 
but  as  soon  as  he  could  crawl  again  he  vowed  himself 
ready  for  Waterpark,  and  weak  as  he  was  he  ran  poor 
Waterpark  through  the  lungs.  Some  said  Jack  spitted 
himself  on  his  sword — but  dead  he  was  anyhow,  and  mon- 
sieur your  father — what  was  his  name  .-*  Kerme-some- 
thing — was  off  with  your  mother  before  the  rest  of  us  were 
well  out  of  bed." 

"  Fie,  fie,  my  lord,"  said  Tanty,  "  you  should  not  recall 
old  stories  in  this  manner  !  " 

"  Gad,  ma'am,  I  warrant  this  young  lady  is  quite  ready 
to  provide  you  with  a  few  new  ones,"  chuckled  my  lord  ; 
and  as  there  was  no  more  to  be  extracted  from  him  but 
foolish  old  jokes  and  dreadful  smiles,  I  contrived  to  free 
my  "pretty  little  hand,"  and  sit  down  demurely  by 
Tanty's  side  like  the  modest  retiring  young  female  I 
should  be. 

But  my  blood  was  dancing  in  my  veins — the  blood  of 
Murthering    Moll — doddering  old    idiot   as    he   is,    Lord 
Manningham  is  right   for  once,  I  mean  to  take  quite  as 
much  out  of  life  as  she  did.     That  indeed  is  worth  being 
young  and  beautiful  for  !     We  know  nothing  of  our  family, 
save  that  both  father  and  mother  were  killed  in  Vendue. 
Tanty  never  will  tell  us  anything  about  them  (except  their 
coats  of  arms),  and  I  am  afraid  even  to  start  the  subject, 
for  she  always  branches  off  upon  heraldry  and  then  we 
are    in    for   hours    of  it.      But    after    Lord    Manningham 
was   gone  I  asked  her  when  and  how  my  grandmother 
died. 

"  She  died  when  your  mother  was  born,  my  dear,"  said 
Tanty,  "she  was  not  as  old  as  you  are  now,  and  your 
grandfather  never  smiled  again,  or  so  they  said." 

That  sobered  me  a  little.  Yet  she  lived  her  life  so  well, 
while  she  did  live,   that  I  who  have  wasted  twenty  pre- 


THE  THRESHOLD  OF  WOMANHOOD     109 

cious  years  can  find  in   my  heart  rather  to  envy  than  to 
pity  my  beautiful  grandmother. 

November  ^tli. — It  is  three  o'clock  m  the  morning,  but  I 
do  not  feel  at  all  inclined  to  go  to  bed.  Madeleine  is 
sleeping,  poor  pretty  pale  Madeleine !  with  the  tears 
hardly  dry  upon  her  cheeks  and  I  can  hear  her  sighing  in 
her  sleep. 

I  was  right,  she  is  in  love,  and  the  gentleman  she  loves 
is  not  approved  of  by  Tanty  and  the  upshot  of  it  all  is  we 
are  to  leave  dear  Bath,  delightful  Bath,  to-morrow — to-day 
rather — for  some  unknown  penitential  region  which  our 
stern  relative  as  yet  declines  to  name.  I  am  longing  to 
hear  more  about  it ;  but  Tanty,  who,  though  she  talks  so 
much,  can  keep  her  own  counsel  better  than  any  woman 
I  know,  will  not  give  me  any  further  information  beyond 
the  facts  that  the  delinquent  who  has  dared  to  aspire  to 
my  sister  is  a  person  of  the  name  of  Smith,  and  that  it 
would  not  do  at  all. 

I  have  not  the  heart  to  wake  Madeleine  to  make  her 
tell  me  more,  though  I  really  ought  to  pinch  her  well  for 
being  so  secretive — besides,  my  head  is  so  full  of  my  own 
day  that  I  want  to  get  it  all  written  down,  and  I  shall 
never  have  done  so  unless  I  begin  at  the  beginning. 

Yesterday,  then,  at  3  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  Lord 
Dereham's  coach  and  four  came  clattering  up  to  our  door 
to  call  for  me.  Mrs.  Hambledon  was  already  installed 
and  Lady  Soames  and  a  dozen  other  of  ih.e /ashionables 
of  Bath.  My  little  Lord  Marquis  had  kept  the  box  seat 
for  me,  at  which  the  other  ladies,  even  my  dear  friend 
and  chaperon,  looked  rather  green.  The  weather  was 
glorious,  and  off  we  went  with  a  flourish  of  trumpets  and 
whips,  and  I  knew  I  should  enjoy  myself  monstrously. 

And  so  I  did.  But  it  was  the  drive  back  that  was  the 
best  of  all.  We  never  started  till  near  nine  o'clock,  and 
Lord  Dereham  insisted  on  my  sitting  beside  him  again — 
at  which  all  the  ladies  looked  daggers  at  me  and  all  the 
gentlemen  daggers  at  him.  And  then  we  sang  songs  and 
tore  along  uphill  and  down  dale,  under  the  beautiful  moon- 
light, through  the  still  air,  till  all  at  once  we  found  we  had 
lost  our  way.  We  had  to  drive  on  till  we  came  to  an  inn 
and  we  could  make  inquiries.  There  the  gentlemen 
opened  another  hamper  of  wine,   and  when  we  set  off 


no  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

again  I  promise  you  they  were  all  pretty  lively  (and  most 
of  the  ladies  too,  for  the  matter  of  that).  As  for  me,  who 
never  drank  anything  but  milk  or  water  till  six  months 
ago,  I  have  not  learnt  to  like  wine  yet,  so,  though  I 
sipped  out  of  the  glass  to  keep  the  fun  going,  I  contrived 
to  dispose  of  the  contents,  quietly  over  the  side  of  the 
coach,  when  no  one  was  looking. 

It  was  a  drive  to  remember.  We  came  to  a  big  hill, 
and  as  we  were  going  down  it  at  a  smart  pace  the  coach 
began  to  sway,  then  the  ladies  began  to  screech,  and 
even  the  men  looked  so  scared  that  I  laughed  outright. 
Lord  Dereham  was  perfectly  tipsy  and  he  did  not  know 
the  road  a  bit,  but  he  drove  in  beautiful  style  and  was  ex- 
traordinarily amusing  ;  as  soon  as  the  coach  took  to  sway- 
ing, instead  of  slackening  speed  as  they  all  begged  him,  he 
lashed  the  horses  into  a  tearing  gallop,  looking  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  rest  and  cursing  them  with  the  greatest 
energy,  grinning  with  rage,  and  looking  more  like  a  little 
white  rat  than  ever. 

"Give  me  the  whip,"  said  I,  "  and  I  shall  whip  the 
team  while  you  drive." 

"  Cu/h  me,"  cried  he,  "  if  you  are  not  worth  the  whole 
coach-load  a  dozen  times  over." 

On  we  went  ;  the  coach  rocked,  the  horses  galloped, 
and  I  knew  at  any  moment  the  whole  thing  might  upset, 
and  I  flourished  my  whip  and  lashed  at  the  steaming 
flanks  and  I  never  felt  what  it  was  to  really  enjoy  myself 
before. 

Presently,  although  we  were  tearing  along  so  fast,  the 
coach  steadied  itself  and  went  as  straight  as  an  arrow  ; 
and  this,  it  seems,  it  would  never  have  done  had  not 
Lord  Dereham  kept  up  the  pace. 

And  all  the  rest  of  the  drive  his  lordship  wanted  to  kiss 
me.  I  was  not  a  bit  frightened,  though  he  was  drunk, 
but  every  time  he  grew  too  forward  I  just  flicked  at  the 
horses  with  the  whip,  and  I  think  he  saw  that  I  would 
have  cracked  him  across  the  face  quite  as  readily  if  he 
dared  to  presume. 

No  doubt  a  dozen  times  during  the  day  I  could  have 
secured  a  coronet  for  myself,  not  to  speak  of  future 
'strawberry  leaves,'  as  my  aunt  says,  if  I  had  cared  to  ; 
but  who  could  think  of  loving  a  man  like  Ihal  P  He  can 
manage  four  horses,  and  he  has  shot  two  men  in  a  duel, 


THE  THRESHOLD  OF  WOMANHOOD     in 

and  he  can  drink  three  bottles  of  wine  at  a  sitting,  and 
when  one  tries  to  find  something  more  to  say  for  him, 
lo  !  that  is  all ! 

When  we  at  length  arrived  at  Camden  Place,  for  I 
vowed  they  must  leave  me  home  the  first,  there  was  the 
rarest  sport.  My  lord's  grooms  must  set  to  blow  the 
horns,  for  they  were  as  drunk  as  their  master,  while  one 
of  the  gentlemen  played  upon  the  knocker  till  the  whole 
crescent  was  aroused. 

Then  the  doors  opened  suddenly,  aiid  Tanty  appears  on 
the  threshold,  holding  a  candle.  Her  turban  was  quite 
crooked,  with  the  birds  of  Paradise  over  one  eye,  and  I 
never  saw  her  old  nose  look  so  hooked.  All  the  gentle- 
men set  up  a  shout,  and  Sir  Thomas  Wrexham  began  to 
crow  like  a  cock  for  no  reason  on  earth  that  I  can  think 
of.  The  servants  were  holding  up  lanterns,  but  the  moon 
was  nigh  as  bright  as  day. 

Tanty  just  looked  round  upon  them  one  after  another, 
and  in  spite  of  her  crooked  turban  I  think  they  all  grew 
frightened.  Then  she  caught  hold  of  me,  and  just  whisked 
me  behind  her.  Next  she  spied  out  Mrs.  Hambledon, 
who  had  been  asleep  inside  the  coach,  and  now  tumbled 
forth,  yawning  and  gaping. 

"And  so,  madam,"  cries  Tanty  to  her,  not  very  loud, 
but  in  a  voice  that  made  even  me  tremble  ;  "so,  madam, 
this  is  how  you  fulfil  the  confidence  I  placed  in  you.  A 
pretty  chaperon  you  are  to  have  the  charge  of  a  young 
lady;  though,  indeed,  considering  your  years,  madam,  I 
might  have  been  justified  in  trusting  you." 

Mrs.  Hambledon,  cut  short  in  the  middle  of  a  loud 
yawn  by  this  attack,  was  a  sight  to  see. 

"  Hoighty-toighty,  ma'am!"  she  cried,  indignantly,  as 
soon  as  she  could  get  her  voice;  "here's  a  fine  to-do.  It 
is  my  fault,  of  course,  that  Lord  Dereham  should  mistake 
the  road.  And  my  fault  too,  no  doubt,  that  your  miss 
should  make  an  exhibition  of  herself  riding  on  the  box 
with  the  gentlemen  at  this  hour  of  night,  when  I  implored 
her  to  come  inside  with  me,  were  it  only  for  the  sake  of 
common  female  propriety." 

"Common  female  indeed!"  echoed  Tanty,  with  a 
snort ;   "the  poor  child  knew  better." 

"Cuth  the  old  cats!  they'll  have  each  other'th  eyeth 
out,"  here  cried  my  lord  marquis,  interposing  his  little 


112  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

tipsy  person  between  them.  He  had  scrambled  down  the 
box  after  me,  and  was  listening-  with  an  air  of  profound 
wisdom  that  made  me  feel  fit  to  die  laughing-.  "Don't 
you  mind  her,  old  lady,"  he  went  on,  addressing  Tanty  ; 
' '  Mith  Molly  ith  quite  able  to  take  care  of  herself — damme 
if  she'thnot." 

Aunt  Donoghue  turned  upon  him  majestically. 

"And  then  that  is  more  than  can  be  said  for  you,  my 
poor  young  man,"  she  exclaimed  ;  and  I  vow  he  looked 
as  sobered  as  if  she  had  flung  a  bucket  of  cold  water  over 
him.  Upon  this  she  retired  and  shut  the  door,  and  marched 
me  upstairs  before  her  without  a  word. 

Before  my  room  door  she  stopped. 

"Mrs.  Dcmpsey  has  already  packed  your  sister's 
trunks,"  she  said,  in  a  very  dry  way;  "and  she  will 
begin  to  pack  yours  early — I  was  going  to  say  to-morrow 
— but  you  keep  such  hours,  my  dear — it  will  be  to-day." 

I  stared  at  her  as  if  she  had  gone  mad. 

"^  You  and  your  sister,"  she  went  on,  "have  got  be- 
yond me.  I  have  taken  my  resolution  and  given  my 
orders,  and  there  is  not  the  least  use  making  a  scene." 

And  then  it  came  out  about  Madeleine.  At  first  I 
thought  I  would  go  into  a  great  passion  and  refuse  to 
obey,  but  after  a  minute  or  two  I  saw  it  was,  as  she  said, 
no  use.  Tanty  was  as  cool  as  a  cucumber.  Then  I 
thought  perhaps  I  might  mollify  her  if  I  could  cry,  but 
I  couldn't  pump  up  a  tear  ;  I  never  can  ;  and  at  last  when 
I  went  into  my  room  and  saw  poor  Madeleine,  who  has 
cried  herself  to  sleep,  evidently,  I  understood  that  there 
was  nothing  for  us  but  to  do  as  we  were  told. 

And  now  I  can  hear  Tanty  fussing  about  her  room  still 
—she  has  been  writing,  too— era,  era,  era — this  last  hour. 
I  wonder  who  to  }  After  all  there  is  some  fun  in  being 
taken  off  mysteriously  we  don't  know  where.  I  should 
like  to  go  and  kiss  her,  but  she  thinks  I  am  abed. 


CHAPTER  XI 
A  MASTERFUL  OLD  MAID 

No  contrary  advice  having  reached  Pulwick  since  Miss 
O'Donoghue's  letter  of  invoice,  as  Mr.  Landale  facetiously 
described  it,  he  drove  over  to  Lancaster  on  the  day  ap- 
pointed to  meet  the  party. 

And  thus  it  came  to  pass  that  through  the  irresistible 
management  of  Miss  O'Donoghue,  who  put  into  the  pro- 
motion of  her  scheme  all  the  energy  belonging  to  her 
branch  of  the  family,  together  with  the  long  habit  of  au- 
thority of  the  Tante  d  heritage,  the  daughters  of  Cdcile  de 
Savenaye  returned  to  that  first  home  of  theirs,  of  which 
they  had  forgotten  even  the  name. 

Mr.  Landale  had  not  set  eyes  on  his  valuable  relative 
for  many  years,  but  her  greeting,  at  the  first  renewal  of 
intercourse  which  took  place  in  the  principal  parlour  of 
the  Lancaster  Inn,  was  as  easily  detached  in  manner  as 
though  they  had  just  met  again  after  a  trifling  absence 
and  she  was  bringing  her  charges  to  his  house  in  accord- 
ance with  a  mutual  agreement. 

"  My  dear  Rupert,"  cried  she,  "I  am  glad  to  see  you 
again.  I  need  not  ask  you  how  you  are,  you  look  so 
extremely  sleek  and  prosperous.  Adrian's  wide  acres  are 
succulent,  hey  }  I  should  have  known  you  anywhere  ; 
though  to  be  sure,  you  are  hardly  large  enough  for  the 
breed,  you  have  the  true  Landale  stamp  on  you,  the  un- 
mistakable Landale  style  of  feature.  Semper  eadem.  In 
that  sense,  at  least,  one  can  apply  your  ancient  and  once 
worthy  motto  to  you  ;  and  you  know,  nephew,  since  you 
have  conveniently  changed  your  faith,  both  to  God  and 
king,  this  sentiment  strikes  one  as  a  sarcasm  amidst  the 
achievements  of  Landale,  you  backsliders !  Ah,  we 
O'Donoghues  have  better  maintained  our  device,  sans 
changier." 

8  113 


114  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

Rupert,  to  whom  the  well-known  volubility  of  his  aunt 
was  most  particularly  disagreeable,  but  who  had  never- 
theless saluted  the  stalwart  old  lady's  cheek  with  much 
affection,  here  bent  his  supple  back  with  a  sort  of  mock- 
ing gallantry. 

"  You  maintain  your  device,  permit  me  to  say,  my  dear 
aunt,  as  ostentatiously  in  your  person  as  we  renegade 
Landales  ourselves." 

"Pooh,  pooh  !  I  am  too  old  a  bird  to  be  caught  by  such 
chaff,  nephew  ;  it  is  pearls  before  ....  I  mean  it  is  too 
late  m  the  day,  my  dear.  Keep  it  for  the  young  things. 
And  indeed  I  see  the  sheep's  eyes  you  have  been  casting 
in  their  direction.  Come  nearer,  young  ladies,  and  make 
your  cousin's  acquaintance,"  beckoning  to  her  nieces, 
who,  arrayed  in  warm  travelling  pelisses  and  beaver 
bonnets  of  fashionable  appearance,  stood  in  the  back- 
ground near  the  fireplace. 

"They  are  very  like,  are  they  not.-*  "she  continued. 
"Twins  always  are;  as  like  as  two  peas.  And  yet  these 
are  as  different  as  day  and  night  when  you  come  to  know 
them.  Madeleine  is  the  eldest  ;  that  is  she  in  the  beaver 
fur  ;  Molly  prefers  bear.  Without  their  bonnets  you  will 
distinguish  them  by  their  complexion.  Molly  has  raven 
hair  (she  is  the  truest  O'Donoghue),  whilst  Madeleine  is 
fair,  blonde,  like  her  Breton  father." 

The  sisters  greeted  their  new-found  guardian,  each  in 
her  own  way.  And,  in  spite  of  the  disguising  bonnets 
and  their  surprising  similarity  of  voice,  height,  and  build, 
the  difference  was  more  marked  than  that  of  beaver  and 
bear. 

Madeleine  acknowledged  her  kinsman's  greeting  with  a 
dainty  curtsey  and  little  half-shy  smile,  marked  by  that 
air  of  distinction  and  breeding  which  was  her  peculiar 
characteristic.  Molly,  however,  who  thought  she  had 
reasonable  cause  for  feeling  generally  exasperated,  and 
who  did  not  see  in  Mr.  Rupert  Landale,  despite  his  good 
looks  and  his  good  manner,  a  very  promising  substitute 
for  her  Bath  admirers  (nor  in  the  prospect  of  Pulwick  a 
profitable  exchange  for  Bath),  came  forward  with  her 
bolder  grace  to  flounce  him  a  saucy  "  reverence,"  measur- 
ing him  the  while  with  a  certain  air  of  mockery  which 
his  thin-skinned  susceptibility  was  quick  to  seize. 

He  looked  back  at  her  down   the  long  tunnel  of  her 


A  MASTERFUL  OLD  MAID  115 

bonnet,  appraising  the  bloom  and  beauty  within  with  cold 
and  curious  gaze,  and  then  he  turned  to  Madeleine  and 
made  to  her  his  courteous  speech  of  welcome. 

This  was  sufficient  for  Miss  Molly,  who,  for  six  months 
already  accustomed  to  compel  admiration  at  first  sight 
from  all  specimens  of  the  male  sex  that  came  across  her 
path,  instantly  vowed  a  deadly  hatred  to  her  cousin,  and 
followed  the  party  into  the  Landale  family  coach — Rupert 
preceding,  with  a  lady  on  each  arm — in  a  temper  as  black 
as  her  own  locks. 

It  fell  to  her  lot  to  sit  beside  the  objectionable  relative 
on  the  back  seat,  while,  by  the  right  of  her  minute's 
seniority,  Madeleine  sat  beside  Tanty  in  the  front.  The 
projecting  wings  of  her  headgear  efTectively  prevented 
her  from  watching  his  demeanour,  unless,  indeed,  she  had 
turned  to  him,  which  was,  of  course,  out  of  the  question  ; 
but  certain  fugitive  conscious  blushes  upon  the  young 
face  in  front  of  her,  certain  castings  down  of  long  lashes 
and  timid  upward  glances,  made  Molly  shrewdly  con- 
jecture that  Mr.  Landale,  through  all  the  apparent  devo- 
tion with  which  he  listened  to  Tanty's  continuous  flow 
of  observations,  was  able  to  bestow  a  certain  amount  of 
attention  upon  her  pretty  neighbour. 

Tanty  herself  conducted  the  conversation  with  her 
usual  high  hand,  feigning  utter  oblivion  of  the  thunder- 
cloud on  Molly's  countenance  ;  and,  if  somewhat  rambling 
in  her  discourse,  nevertheless  contriving  to  plant  her 
points  where  she  chose. 

Thus  the  long  drive  wore  to  its  end.  The  sun  was 
golden  upon  Pulwick  when  the  carriage  at  length  drew 
up  before  the  portico.  Miss  Sophia  received  them  in  the 
hall,  in  a  state  of  painful  flutter  and  timidity.  She  had  a 
constitutional  terror  of  her  aunt's  sharp  eyes,  and,  though 
she  examined  her  young  cousins  wistfully,  Madeleine's 
unconscious  air  of  dignity  repelled  her  as  much  as  Molly's 
deliberate  pertness. 

Rupert  conducted  his  aunt  upstairs,  and  down  the  long 
echoing  corridor  towards  her  apartment. 

"Ha,  my  old  quarters,"  quoth  Tanty,  disengaging 
herself  briskly  from  her  escort  to  enter  the  room  and  look 
round  approvingly,  "and  very  comfortable  they  are. 
And  my  two  nieces  are  next  door,  I  see,  as  gay  as  chintz 
can  make  them.     Thank  you,  nephew,  I  shall  keep  you 


ii6  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

no  longer.  We  shall  dine  shortly,  I  feel  sure.  Well, 
well,  I  do  not  pretend  I  am  not  quite  ready  to  do  justice 
to  your  excellent  fare — beyond  doubt,  it  will  be  excel- 
lent !  Go  to  your  room,  girls,  your  baggage  is  coming 
up,  you  see ;  I  shall  send  Dempsey  to  assist  you  pres- 
ently. No,  not  you,  Sophia,  I  was  speaking  to  the  young 
ones.  I  sliould  like  to  have  a  little  chat  with  you,  my 
dear,  if  you  have  no  objection." 

One  door  closed  upon  Rupert  as  he  smiled  and  bowed 
himself  out,  the  other  upon  Molly  hustling  her  sister 
before  her. 

Tanty  in  the  highest  good  humour,  having  accom- 
plished her  desire,  and  successfully  "established  a  lodg- 
ment "  (to  use  a  military  term  not  inappropriate  to  such  a 
martial  spirit)  for  her  troublesome  nieces  in  the  strong- 
hold of  Puhvick,  once  more  surveyed  her  surroundings  : 
the  dim  old  walls,  the  great  four-post  bed,  consecrated, 
of  course,  by  tradition  to  the  memory  of  some  royal 
slumberer,  the  damask  hangings,  and  the  uncomfortable 
chairs,  with  the  utmost  favour,  ending  up  with  a  humor- 
ous examination  of  the  elongated  figure  hesitating  on  the 
hearthrug. 

"  Be  seated,  Sophia.  I  am  glad  to  stretch  my  old 
limbs  after  that  terrible  drive.  So  here  we  are  together 
again.  What  are  you  sighing  for. J*  Upon  my  soul,  you 
are  the  same  as  ever,  I  see,  the  same  tombstone  on  your 
chest,  and  blowing  yourself  out  with  sighs,  just  as  you 
used.  That  will  never  give  you  a  figure,  my  poor  girl  ; 
it  is  no  wonder  you  are  but  skin  and  bones.  Ah,  can't 
you  let  the  poor  fellow  rest  in  his  grave  Sophia  ?  it  is 
flying  in  the  face  of  Providence,  I  call  it,  to  go  on  per- 
petually stirring  up  his  ashes  like  that.  I  hope  you  mean 
to  try  and  be  a  little  more  cheerful  with  those  poor  girls. 
But,  there,  I  believe  you  are  never  so  happy  as  when  you 
are  miserable.  And  it's  a  poor  creature  you  would  be  at 
any  time,"  added  the  old  lady  to  herself,  after  a  second 
thoughtful  investigation  of  Miss  Landalc's  countenance, 
which  had  assumed  an  expression  of  mulishness  in  addi- 
tion to  an  increase  of  dolefulness  during  this  homily. 

Here,  to  Miss  Landale's  great  relief,  the  dying  sunset, 
wavering  into  crimson  and  purple,  from  its  first  glory  of 
liquid  gold,  attracted  her  aunt's  attention,  and  Miss 
O'Donoghue  went  over  to  the  window. 


A  MASTERFUL  OLD  MAID  117 

Beneath  her  spread  the  quaint  garden,  with  its  clipped 
box  edges,  and  beyond  the  now  leafless  belt  of  trees, 
upon  the  glimmer  of  the  bay,  the  outline  of  Scarthey,  a 
dark  silhouette  rose  fantastically  against  the  vivid  sky. 
Even  as  she  gazed,  there  leapt  upon  its  fairy  turret  a 
minute  point  of  white. 

The  jovial  old  countenance  changed  and  darkened. 

"And  Adrian  is  still  at  his  fool's  game  over  there,  I 
suppose,''  she  said  irately  turning  upon  Sophia.  "When 
have  you  seen  him  last  ?  How  often  does  he  come  here  ? 
I  gather  Master  Rupert  is  nothing  if  not  the  master. 
Why  don't  you  answer  me,  Sophia  ?  " 

The  dinner  was  as  well  cooked  and  served  a  meal  as 
any  under  Rupert's  rule,  which  is  saying  a  good  deal, 
and  if  the  young  ladies  failed  to  appreciate  the  "floating 
island,"  the  "  golden  nests,"  and  "silver  web, "so  thought- 
fully provided  for  them,  Tanty  did  ample  justice  to  the 
venison. 

Indeed  the  cloud  which  had  been  visible  upon  her 
countenance  at  the  beginning  of  dinner,  and  which  ac- 
cording to  that  downright  habit  of  mind,  which  rendered 
her  so  terrible  or  so  delightful  a  companion,  she  made  no 
attempt  to  conceal,  began  to  lift  towards  the  first  remove, 
and  altogether  vanished  over  her  final  glass  of  port. 

After  dinner  she  peremptorily  ordered  her  grandnieces 
into  the  retirement  of  their  bedchambers,  unblushingly 
alleging  their  exhausted  condition  in  front  of  the  perfect 
bloom  of  their  beautiful  young  vigour. 

She  then,  over  a  cup  of  tea,  luxuriously  stretching  her 
thin  frame  in  the  best  armchair  the  drawing-room  could 
afford,  gave  Rupert  a  brief  code  of  directions  as  to  the 
special  attentions  and  care  she  desired  to  be  bestowed 
upon  her  wards,  during  their  residence  at  Pulwick,  de- 
scanting generously  upon  their  various  perfections, 'gliding 
dexterously  over  her  reasons  for  wishing  to  be  rid  of  them 
herself,  and  concluding  with  the  hint — either  pregnant  or 
barren  of  meaning  as  he  chose  to  take  it — that  if  he  made 
their  stay  pleasant  to  them,  she  would  not  forget  the 
service. 

Then,  as  Mr.  Landale  began,  with  apparent  guileless- 
ness,  to  put  a  few  little  telling  questions  to  her  anent  the 
episodes  which  had  made  Bath  imdesirable  as  a  residence 


ii8  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

for  these  young  paragons,  the  old  lady  suddenly  became 
overwhelmed  with  fatigue  and  sleepiness,  and  professed 
herself  ready  to  be  conducted  to  her  bower  immediately. 


Meanwhile,  despite  the  moue  de  circonstance  which 
Molly  thought  it  incumbent  on  her  to  assume,  neither  she 
nor  Madeleine  regretted  their  compulsory  withdrawal 
from  the  social  circle  downstairs. 

Madeleine  had  her  own  thoughts  to  follow  up,  and  that 
these  were  both  engrossing  and  pleasant  was  easily  evi- 
dent ;  and  Molly,  bursting  with  a  sense  of  injury  arising 
from  many  causes,  desired  a  special  explanation  with  her 
sister,  which  the  presence  in  and  out  upon  themof  Tanty's 
woman  had  prevented  her  from  indulging  in  before 
dinner. 

"So  here  we  are  at  last,"  cried  she,  indignantly,  after 
she  had  walked  round  and  severely  inspected  her  quarters, 
pausing  to  "pull  a  lip  "  of  extreme  disfavour  at  the  hand- 
some portrait  of  Mr.  Landale  that  hung  between  the 
windows,  "we  are,  Madeleine,  at  last,  kidnapped,  im- 
prisoned, successfully  disposed  of,  in  fact." 

"Yes,  here  we  are  at  last,"  echoed  Madeleine,  abstract- 
edly, warming  her  slender  ankles  by  the  fire. 

"  Have  you  made  out  yet  what  particular  kind  of  new 
frenzy  it  was  that  seized  chbre  Tante  }  "  asked  Miss  Molly, 
with  great  emphasis,  as  she  sat  down  at  her  toilet-table. 
"You  are  the  cause  of  it  all,  my  dear,  and  so  you  ought 
to  know.  It  is  all  very  well  for  Tanty  to  pretend  that  I 
have  brought  it  on  myself  by  not  coming  home  till  three 
o'clock  (as  if  that  was  my  fault).  She  cannot  blink  the 
fact  that  her  Dempsey  creature  had  orders  to  pack  my 
boxes  before  bedtime.  Your  Smith  must  be  a  desperately 
dangerous  individual.  Well,"  she  continued,  looking 
round  over  her  shoulder,  "why  don't  you  say  something, 
you  lackadaisical  thing  ?  " 

But  Madeleine  answered  nought  and  continued  gazing, 
while  only  the  little  smile,  tilting  the  corners  of  her  lips, 
betrayed  that  she  had  heard  the  petulant  speech. 

The  smile  put  the  finishing  touch  to  Molly's  righteous 
anger.  Brandishing  a  hairbrush  threateningly,  she 
marched  over  to  her  sister  and  looked  down  upon  the 
slender  figure,  in  its  clinging  white  dress,  with  blazing  eyes. 


A  MASTERFUL  OLD  MAID  119 

"Look  here,"  she  cried,  "there  must  be  an  end  of  this. 
I  can  put  up  with  your  slyness  no  longer.  How  dare  you 
have  secrets  from  me,  miss  ? — your  own  twin  sister ! 
You  and  I,  who  used  never  to  have  a  thought  we  did  not 
share.  How  dare  you  have  a  lover,  and  not  tell  me  all 
about  him.?  What  was  the  meaning  of  your  weeping 
like  a  fountain  all  the  way  from  Bath  to  Shrewsbury,  and 
then,  without  rhyme  or  reason  apparently,  smiling  to 
yourself  all  the  way  from  there  to  Lancaster.     You  have 

had  a  letter,  don't  attempt  to  deny  it,  it  is  of  no  use 

Oh,  it  is  base  of  you,  it  is  indeed  !  And  to  think  that  it 
is  all  through  you  that  I  am  forced  into  this  exile,  through 
your  airs  pencMs,  and  your  sighing  and  dreaming,   and 

your  mysterous   Smith To  think    that   to-night, 

this  very  night,  is  the  ball  of  the  season,  and  we  are 
going  to  bed  !  Oh,  and  to-morrow  and  to-morrow,  and 
to-morrow,  with  nothing  but  a  knave  and  a  fool  to  keep  us 
company — for  I  don't  think  much  of  your  female  cousin, 
Madeleine,  and,  as  for  your  male  cousin,  I  perfectly  de- 
test him — and  all  the  tabbies  of  the  country-side  for  diver- 
sion, with  perhaps  a  country  buck  on  high  days  and  holi- 
days for  a  relish  !     Pah  !  " 

Molly  had  almost  talked  her  ill-humour  away.  Her 
energetic  nature  could  throw  off  most  unpleasant  emotions 
easily  enough  so  long  as  it  might  have  an  outlet  for 
them  ;  she  now  laid  down  the  threatening  brush,  and, 
kneeling  beside  her,  flung  both  her  arms  round  Madeleine's 
shoulders. 

"  Ma  petite  Madeleine,"  she  coaxed,  in  the  mother 
tongue,   "  tell  thy  little  sister  thy  secrets." 

A  faint  flush  crept  to  Madeleine's  usually  creamy  cheeks, 
a  light  into  her  eyes.  She  turned  impulsively  to  the  face 
near  hers,  then,  as  if  bethinking  herself,  pursed  her  lips 
together  and  shook  her  head  slightly. 

"  Do  you  remember,  ma  cherie,"shesaid,  at  last,  "that 
French  tale  Mrs.  Hambledon  lent  us  in  which  it  is  said 
*  Qui /uji  r amour,  l' amour  suit.'" 

"  Well?  "  asked  Molly,  eagerly,  her  lips  parted  as  if  to 
drink  in  the  expected  confidence. 

"Well,"  replied  the  other,  "  well,  perhaps  things  may 
not  be  so  bad  after  all.  Perhaps."  rising  from  her  seat, 
and  looking  at  her  sister  with  a  little  gentle  malice,  while 
she,  too,  began  to  disrobe  her  fairer  beauty  for  the  night. 


I20  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

"  some  of  your  many  lovers  may  come  after  you  from 
Bath  !  Oh,  :Molly  !  "  with  a  little  scream,  for  Molly, 
with  eyes  flashing  once  more,  had  sprung  up  from  her 
knees  to  inflict  a  vicious  pinch  upon  the  equivocator's 
arm. 

"Yes,  miss,  you  shall  he  pinched  till  you  confess." 
Then  flouting  her  with  a  sudden  change  of  mood,  "  I  am 
sure  I  don't  want  to  know  your  wonderful  secret," — 
seizing  her  comb  and  passing  it  crackling  through  her 
hair  with  quite  unnecessary  energy — "  Mademoiselle  la 

Cachotiere.    Any  how,  it  cannot  be  very  interesting 

Mrs.  Smith  !  Fancy  caring  for  a  man  called  Smith  !  If 
you  smile  again  like  that,  Madeleine,  I  shall  beat  you." 

The  two  sisters  looked  at  each  other  for  a  second  as 
if  hesitating  on  the  brink  of  anger,  and  then  both 
laughed. 

"  Never  mind,  I  shall  pay  you  out  yet,"  quoth  Molly, 
tugging  at  her  black  mane.  "  So  our  lovers  are  to  come 
after  us,  is  thai  it  ?  Do  you  know,  Madeleine,"  she  went 
on,  calming  down,  *'  I  almost  regret  now  that  I  would 
not  listen  to  young  Lord  Dereham,  simpleton  though  he 
be.      He  looked  such  a  dreadful   little  fright  that  I  only 

laughed  at  him I  should  have  laughed  at  him  all 

my  life.  But  it  would  perhaps  have  been  better  than  this 
dependence  on  Tanty,  with  her  sudden  whims  and  scam- 
pers and  whisking  of  us  away  into  the  wilderness.  Then 
I  should  have  had  my  own  way  always.  Now  it's  too 
late.  Tanty  told  me  yesterday  that  she  sees  he  is  a  dis- 
solute young  man,  and  that  his  dukedom  is  only  a  Charles 
II,  creation,  and  '  We  know  what  that  means,'  she  added, 
and  shook  her  head.  I  am  sure  I  had  not  a  notion,  but 
I  shook  my  head  too,  and  said,  '  Of  course,  that  made  it 
impossible.'  I  was  really  afraid  she  would  want  me  to 
marry  him.  She  was  dreadfully  pleased  and  said  I  was 
a  true  O'Donoghue.  Oh,  dear  !  I  don't  know  a?i_yihmg 
about  love.  I  can't  imagine  being  in  love  ;  but  one  thing 
is  certain,  I  could  never,  never,  never  allow  a  horrid  little 
rat  like  Lord  Dereham  to  make  love  to  me,  to  kiss  me, 
nor,  indeed,  any  man — oh,  horror  !  How  you  are  blush- 
ing, my  dear  !  Come  here  into  the  light.  It  would  be 
good  for  your  soul,  indeed  it  would,  to  confess  !  '' 

But  Madeleine,  burying  her  hot  cheeks  in  her  sister's 
neck  and  clasping  her  with  gentle  caresses,  was  not  to  be 


A  MASTERFUL  OLD  MAID  121 

drawn  from  her  reticence.     Molly  pushed  her  off  at  last, 
and  gave  a  hard  little  good-night  kiss  like  a  bird-peck. 

"Very  well;  but  you  might  as  well  have  confessed,  for 
I  shall  find  out  in  the  long  run.  And  who  knows,  perhaps 
you  may  be  sorry  one  day  that  you  did  not  tell  me  of 
your  own  accord." 


CHAPTER  XII 
A  RECORD  AND  A  PRESENTMENT. 

The  gallery  of  family  portraits  at  Pulvvick  is  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  features  of  that  ancient  house. 

It  was  a  custom  firmly  established  at  the  Priory — ever 
since  the  first  heralds'  visitation  in  Lancashire,  when 
some  mooted  point  of  claims  to  certain  quarterings  had 
been  cleared  in  an  unexpected  way  by  the  testimony  of  a 
well-authenticated  ancestral  portrait — for  each  successive 
representative  to  add  to  the  collection.  One  of  the  first 
cares  of  every  Landale,  therefore,  on  succeeding  to  the 
title  was  to  be  painted,  with  his  proper  armorial  and 
otherwise  distinguishing  honours  jealously  delineated,  and 
thus  hung  in  the  place  of  honour  over  the  high  mantel- 
shelf of  the  gallery — displacing  on  the  occasion  his  own 
immediate  and  revered  predecessor. 

The  chain  was  consequently  unbroken  from  the  Eliza- 
bethan descendants  of  the  first  acquirers  of  ecclesiastical 
property  at  Pulwick,  down  to  the  present  Light-keeper  of 
Scarthey. 

But  whilst  the  late  Sir  Thomas  appeared  in  all  the  maj- 
esty of  deputy-lieutenant,  colonel  of  Militia,  magistrate, 
and  sundry  other  honourable  offices,  in  his  due  place  on 
the  right  of  the  present  baronet,  the  latter  figured  in  a 
character  so  strange  and  so  incongruous  that  it  seemed 
as  if  one  day  the  dignified  array  of  Landales — old,  young, 
middle-aged,  but  fine  gentlemen,  all  of  them — must  turn 
their  backs  upon  their  degenerate  kinsman. 

Over  the  chimney-piece,  in  the  huge  carved-oak  frame 
(now  already  two  centuries  old),  a  common  sailor,  in  the 
striped  loose  trousers,  the  blue  jacket  with  red  piping  of 
a  man-of-war's  man,  with  pigtail  and  coarse  open  shirt — 
stood  boldly  forth  as  the  representative  of  the  present 
owner  of  Pulwick. 

122 


A  RECORD  AND  A  PRESENTMENT     123 

Proud  of  their  long  line  of  progenitors,  it  was  a  not 
unusual  thing  for  the  Landales  to  entertain  their  guests 
at  breakfast  in  a  certain  sunny  bow-window  in  the  por- 
trait gallery  rather  than  in  the  breakfast  parlour  proper, 
which  in  winter,  unmistakably  harboured  more  damp 
than  was  pleasant. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  no  surprise  that  Miss  Landale 
received  an  early  order  from  her  brother  to  have  a  fire 
lighted  in  the  apartment  sacred  to  the  family  honours, 
and  the  matutinal  repast  served  there  in  due  course. 

Whether  Mr.  Landale  was  actuated  by  a  regard  for  the 
rheumatism  of  his  worthy  relative,  or  merely  a  natural 
family  pride,  or  by  some  other  and  less  simple  motive, 
he  saw  no  necessity  for  informing  his  docile  housewife 
on  the  matter. 

As  Sophia  was  accustomed  to  no  such  condescension 
on  his  part  even  in  circumstances  more  extraordinary, 
she  merely  bundled  out  of  bed  unquestioningly  in  the 
darkness  and  cold  of  the  morning  to  see  his  orders 
executed  in  the  proper  manner  ;  which,  indeed,  to  her 
credit  was  so  successfully  accomplished  that  Tanty  and 
her  charges,  when  they  made  their  entry  upon  the  scene, 
could  not  fail  to  be  impressed  with  the  comfortable  aspect 
of  the  majestic  old  room. 

Mr.  Landale  examined  his  two  young  uninvited  guests 
with  new  keenness  in  the  morning  light.  Molly  was  de- 
mure enough,  though  there  was  a  lurking  gleam  in  her 
dark  eye  which  suggested  rather  armed  truce  than  ac- 
cepted peace.  As  for  Madeleine,  though  to  be  serene 
was  an  actual  necessity  of  her  delicate  nature,  there  was 
more  than  resignation  in  the  blushing  radiance  of  her 
look  and  smile. 

"Portraits  of  their  mother,"  said  Rupert,  bringing  his 
critical  survey  to  a  close,  and  stepping  forward  with  a 
nice  action  of  the  legs  to  present  his  arm  to  his  aunt. 
"Portraits  of  their  mother  both  of  them — I  trust  to  that 
miniature  which  used  to  grace  our  collection  in  the  draw- 
ing-room rather  than  to  the  treacherous  memory  of  a 
school-boy  for  the  impression — but  portraits  by  different 
masters  and  in  different  moods." 

There  was  something  patronising  in  the  tone  from  so 
young  a  man,  which  Molly  resented  on  the  spot. 

"Oh,  we  should  be  as  like  as  two  peas,  only  that  we 


124  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

are  as  different  as  day  and  night,  as  Tanty  says,"  she 
retorted,  tossing-  her  white  chin  at  her  host,  while  Miss 
O'Donoghue  laughed  aloud  at  her  favourite's  sauciness. 

"And  after  all,"  said  Rupert,  as  he  bestowed  his  ven- 
erable relative  on  her  chair,  with  an  ineffable  air  of 
politeness,  contradicted,  though  only  for  an  instant,  by 
the  look  which  he  shot  at  Molly  from  the  light  hazel 
eyes,  "Tanty  is  not  so  far  wrong — the  only  difference 
between  night  and  day  is  the  difference  between  the 
brunelie  and  the  blonde,"  with  a  little  bow  to  each  of  the 
sisters,  "  an  Irish  bull,  if  one  comes  to  analyse  it,  is  but 
the  expression  of  the  too  rapid  working  of  quick  wits." 

"Faith,  nephew,"  said  Tanty,  sitting  down  in  high 
good  humour  to  the  innumerable  good  things  in  which  her 
Epicurean  old  soul  delighted,  "that  is  about  as  true  a 
thing  as  ever  you  said.  Our  Irish  tongues  are  apt  to 
get  behind  a  thing  before  it  is  there,  and  they  call  that 
making  a  bull." 

Rupert's  sense  of  humour  was  as  keen  as  most  of  his 
other  faculties,  and  at  the  unconscious  humour  of  this  sally 
his  laugh  rang  out  frankly,  while  Molly  and  Madeleine 
giggled  in  their  plates,  and  Miss  O'Donoghue  chuckled 
quietly  to  herself  in  the  intervals  of  eating  and  drinking, 
content  to  have  been  witty,  without  troubling  to  discover 
how. 

Sophia  alone  remained  unmoved  by  mirth  ;  indeed,  as 
she  raised  her  drooping  head,  amazed  at  the  clamour,  an 
unwary  tear  trickled  down  her  long  nose  into  her  tea. 
She  was  given  to  revelling  in  anniversaries  of  dead  and 
gone  joys  or  sorrows  ;  the  one  as  melancholy  to  her  to 
look  back  upon  as  the  other  ;  and  upon  this  November 
day,  now  very  many  years  ago,  had  the  ardent,  con- 
sumptive rector  first  hinted  at  his  love. 

"And  now,"  said  Miss  O'Donoghue,  who,  having  dis- 
posed of  the  most  serious  part  of  the  breakfast,  pushed 
away  her  plate  with  one  hand  while  she  stirred  her  second 
cup  of  well-creamed  tea  lazily  with  the  other,  "Now, 
Rupert,  will  you  tell  me  the  arrangements  you  propose  to 
make  to  enable  me  to  see  your  good  brother?" 

Rupert  had  anticipated  being  attacked  upon  this  subject, 
and  had  fully  prepared  himself  to  defend  the  peculiar 
position  it  was  his  interest  to  maintain.  To  encourage  a 
meeting  between  his   brother  and  the  old  lady  (to  whom 


A  RECORD  AND  A  PRESENTMENT     125 

the  present  position  of  affairs  was  a  grievous  offence)  did 
not,  certainly,  enter  into  his  plan  of  action  ;  but  Tanty 
had  put  the  question  in  an  unexpected  and  slightly 
awkward  shape,  and  for  a  second  or  two  he  hesitated 
before  replying. 

"  I  fear,"  said  he  then,  gliding  into  the  subject  with  his 
usual  easy  fluency,  ' '  that  you  will  be  disappointed  if  you 
have  been  reckoning  upon  an  interview  with  Adrian,  my 
dear  aunt.  The  hermit  will  not  be  drawn  from  his  shell 
on  any  pretext." 

"What,"  cried  Tanty,  while  her  withered  cheek  flushed, 
"do  you  mean  to  tell  me  thai  my  nephew.  Sir  Adrian 
Landale,  will  decline  to  come  a  few  hundred  yards  to  see 
his  old  aunt — his  mother's  own  sister — who  has  come 
three  hundred  miles,  at  seventy  years  of  age,  to  see  him 
in  his  own  house — in  his  own  house  P  "  repeated  the  irate 
old  lady,  rattling  the  spoon  with  much  emphasis  against 
her  cup.  "  If  you  mean  this,  Rupert,  it  is  an  insult  to  me 
which  I  shall  never  forget — never." 

She  rose  from  her  seat  as  she  concluded,  shaking  with 
the  tremulous  anger  of  age. 

"For  God's  sake,  Tanty,"  cried  Rupert,  throwing  into 
his  voice  all  the  generous  warmth  he  was  capable  of  simu- 
lating, "do  not  hold  me  responsible  for  Adrian  in  this 
matter.  His  strange  vagaries  are  not  of  my  suggesting^ 
heaven  knows." 

"Well,  nephew,"  said  Miss  O'Donoghue,  loftily,  "if 
you  will  kindly  send  the  letter  I  am  about  to  write  to  your 
brother,  by  a  safe  messenger,  immediately,  I  shall  believe 
that  it  is  your  wish  to  treat  me  with  proper  respect, 
whatever  may  be  Adrian's  subsequent  behaviour." 

Mr.  Landale's  countenance  assumed  an  expression  of 
very  genuine  distress ;  this  was  just  the  one  proof  of 
dutiful  attachment  that  he  was  loth  to  bestow  upon  his 
cherished  aunt. 

"I  see  how  it  is,"  he  exclaimed  earnestly,  coming  up 
to  the  old  lady,  and  laying  his  hand  gently  upon  her  arm, 
"you  entirely  misunderstand  the  situation.  I  am  not  a 
free  agent  in  this  matter.  I  cannot  do  what  you  ask  ;  I 
am  bound  by  pledge.  Adrian  is,  undoubtedly,  more 
than — peculiar  on  certain  points,  and,  really,  I  dare  not, 
if  I  would,  thwart  him." 

"Oh!"  cried  Tanty,    shooting  off  the  ejaculation    as 


126  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

from  a  pop-gun.  Then,  shaking  herself  free  of  Rupert's 
touch,  she  sat  down  abruptly  in  her  chair  again,  and 
began  fanning  herself  with  her  handkerchief.  Not  even 
in  her  interchange  of  amenities  with  Mrs.  Hambledon,  had 
Molly  seen  her  display  so  much  indignation. 

"You  want  me  to  believe  he  is  mad,  I  suppose?"  she 
snapped,  at  last. 

"  Dear  me  !  No,  no,  no  !  "  responded  the  other,  in  his 
airy  way.  "  I  did  not  mean  to  go  so  far  as  that  ;  but — 
well,  there  are  very  painful  matters,  and  hitherto  I  have 
avoided  all  discussion  upon  them,  even  with  Sophia.  My 
affection  for  Adrian " 

"Fiddlesticks!"  interrupted  Tanty.  "You  meant 
something,  I  suppose;  either  the  man's  mad,  or  he  is  not. 
And  I,  for  one,  don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  The  worst 
sign  about  him,  that  I  can  see,  is  the  blind  confidence  the 
poor  fellow  seems  to  put  in  you." 

Here  Molly,  who  had  been  listening  to  the  discussion 
"with  all  her  ears" — anything  connected  with  the  mys- 
terious personality  of  the  absent  head  of  the  house  was 
beginning  to  have  a  special  fascination  for  her — gave  an 
irrepressible  little  note  of  laughter. 

Rupert  looked  up  at  her  quickly,  and  their  eyes  met. 

"Hold  your  tongue.  Miss,"  cried  Miss  O'Donoghue, 
sharply  ;  aware  that  she  had  gone  too  far  in  her  last  re- 
mark, and  glad  to  relieve  her  oppression  in  another 
direction,  "how  dare  you  laugh?  Sophia,  this  is  a  ter- 
rible thing  your  brother  wants  me  to  believe — may  I  ask 
what  _your  opinion  is?  Though  I'll  not  deny  I  don't 
think  that  will  be  worth  much." 

Sophia  glanced  helplessly  at  Rupert,  but  he  was  far 
too  carefully  possessed  of  himself  to  affect  to  perceive 
her  embarrassment. 

"Come,  come,"  cried  Miss  O'Donoghue,  whose  eyes 
nothing  escaped,  "  you  need  not  look  at  Rupert,  you  can 
answer  for  yourself.  I  suppose — you  are  not  absolutely  a 
drivelling  idiot— (7//  the  Landales  are  not  ripening  for 
lunatic  asylums — collect  your  wits,  Sophia,  I  know  you 
have  not  got  any,  but  you  have  ejioug-h  to  be  able  to 
give  a  plain  answer  to  a  plain  question,  I  suppose.  Do 
you  think  your  brother  mad,  child  ?" 

"God  forbid,"  murmured  Sophia,  at  the  very  extremity 
of  those  wits  of  which  Miss  O'Donoghue  had  so  poor  an 


A  RECORD  AND  A  PRESENTMENT     127 

opinion.      "Oh,  no,  dear  aunt,  not  mad,  of  course,  not 

in  the  least  mad." 

Then,  gathering  from  a  restless  movement  of  Rupert's 
that  she  was  not  upon  the  right  tack  she  faltered,  floun- 
dered wildly,  and  finally  drew  forth  the  inevitable  pocket- 
handkerchief,  to  add  feelingly  if  irrelevantly  from  its 
folds,  "And  indeed  if  I  thought  such  a  calamity  had 
really  fallen  upon  us — and  of  course  there  are  symptoms, 
no  doubt  there  are  symptoms  .   .   .   ." 

"What  are  his  symptoms — has  he  tried  to  murder  any 
of  you,  hey?" 

"  Oh,  my  dear  aunt !  No,  indeed,  dear  Adrian  is  gen- 
tleness itself" 

"  Does  he  bite  ?  Does  he  gibber  ?  Oh,  away  with 
you,  Sophia  !  I  am  sure  I  cannot  wonder  at  the  poor 
fellow  wanting  to  live  on  a  rock,  between  you  and 
Rupert.  I  am  sure  the  periwinkles  and  the  gulls  must 
be  pleasant  company  compared  to  you.  That  alone 
would  show,  I  should  think,  that  he  knows  right  well 
what  he  is  about.  Mad  indeed  !  There  never  was  any 
madness  among  the  O'Donoghues  except  your  poor  uncle 
Michael,  who  got  a  box  on  the  ear  from  a  windmill — and 
he  wasn't  an  O'Donoghue  at  all  !  You  will  be  kind 
enough,  nephew,  to  have  delivered  to  Sir  Adrian,  no  later 
than  to-day,  the  letter  which  I  shall  this  moment  indite 
to  him." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Rupert,  "if  you  will  only  favour  me 
with  your  attention  for  a  few  minutes  first,  aunt,  and 
allow  me  to  narrate  to  you  the  circumstances  of  my 
brother's  return  here,  and  of  his  subsequent  self-exile, 
you  will  see  fit  to  change  your  opinion,  both  as  regards 
him  and  myself." 

A  self-controlled  nature  will  in  the  long  run,  rightly  or 
wrongly,  always  assume  the  ascendency  over  an  excit- 
able one.  The  moderateness  of  Rupert's  words,  the  cool- 
ness of  his  manner,  here  brought  Tanty  rapidly  down 
from  her  pinnacle  of  passion. 

Certainly,  she  said,  she  was  not  only  ready,  but  anxious 
to  hear  all  that  Rupert  could  have  to  say  for  himself  ; 
and,  smoothing  down  her  black  satin  apron  with  a  shak- 
ing hand,  the  old  lady  prepared  to  listen  with  as  much 
judicial  dignity  as  her  flustered  state  allowed  her  to 
assume.      Rupert  drew  his  chair  opposite  to  hers  and 


128  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

leant  his  elbow   on  the  table,  and  fixed  his  bright,  hard 
eyes  upon  her. 

"You  remember,  of  course,"  he  began  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause,  "how  at  the  time  of  my  poor  father's  death, 
Adrian  was  reported  to  have  lost  his  life  in  the  Vencle'e 
war — though  without  authoritative  confirmation — at  the 
same  time  as  the  fair  and  unhappy  Countesse  de  Save- 
naye,  to  whose  fortune  he  had  so  chivalrously  devoted 
himself." 

Tanty  bowed  her  head  in  solemn  assent  ;  but  Molly, 
watching  with  the  most  acute  attention,  felt  her  face 
blaze  at  the  indefinable  shade  of  mockery  she  thought  to 
catch  upon  the  speaker's  curling  lip. 

"  It  was,"  continued  he,  "the  constant  strain,  the  long 
months  of  watching  in  vain  for  tidings,  that  told  upon  my 
father,  rather  than  the  actual  grief  of  loss.  When  he  died, 
the  responsibilities  of  the  headship  of  the  house  devolved 
naturally  upon  me,  the  only  male  representative  left, 
seemingly,  to  undertake  them.  The  months  went  by  ; 
to  the  most  sanguine  the  belief  in  Adrian's  death  became 
inevitable.  Our  hopes  died  slowly,  but  they  died  at  last ; 
we  mourned  for  him,"  here  Rupert  cast  down  his  eyes 
till  the  thick  black  lashes  which  were  one  of  his  beauties 
swept  his  cheek  ;  his  tone  was  perfect  in  its  simple  gravity. 
"At  length,  urged  thereto  by  all  the  family,  if  I  remember 
rightly  by  yourself  as  well,  dear  aunt,  I  assumed  the  title 
as  well  as  the  position  which  seemed  mine  by  right.  I 
was  very  young  at  the  time,  but  I  do  not  think  that 
cither  then,  or  during  the  ten  years  that  followed,  I 
unworthily  filled  my  brother's  place." 

There  was  a  proud  ring  of  sincerity  in  the  last  words, 
and  the  old  lady  knew  that  they  were  true  ;  that  during 
the  years  of  his  absolute  power  as  well  as  of  his  present 
more  restricted  mastership,  Rupert's  management  of  the 
estate  was  unimpeachable. 

"Certainly  not,  my  dear  Rupert,"  she  said  in  softer 
tones  than  she  had  hitherto  used  to  him,  "no  one  would 
dream  of  suggesting  such  a  thing — pray  go  on." 

"And  so,"  pursued  the  nephew,  with  a  short  laugh, 
relapsing  into  that  light  tone  of  banter  which  was  his  most 
natural  mode  of  expression  ;  "when,  one  fine  day,  a 
hired  coach  clattered  up  Sir  Rupert  Landale's  avenue  and 
deposited  upon  his  porch   a  tattered    mariner    who   an- 


A  RECORD  AND  A  PRESENTMENT     129 

nounced  himself,  in  melancholy  tones  that  would  have 
befitted  the  ghost  no  doubt  many  took  him  for,  as  the 
rightful  Sir  Adrian,  erroneously  supposed  defunct,  I  con- 
fess that  it  required  a  little  persuasion  to  make  me  recog- 
nise my  long-lost  brother — and  yet  there  could  be  no 
doubt  of  it.  The  missing  heir  had  come  to  his  own 
again  ;  the  dead  had  come  back  to  life.  Well,  we  killed 
the  fatted  calf,  and  all  the  rest  of  it — but  I  need  not 
inflict  upon  you  the  narrative  of  our  rejoicing." 

"Faith,  no,"  said  Tanty,  drily,  "I  can  see  it  with 
half  an  eye." 

"You  know,  too,  I  believe,  the  series  of  extraordinary 
adventures,  or  misadventures,  which  had  kept  him  roam- 
ing on  the  high  seas  while  we  at  home  set  up  tablets  to 
his  memory  and  'wore  our  blacks'  as  people  here  call 
it,  and  cultivated  a  chastened  resignation.  There  was  a 
good  deal  of  correspondence  going  on  at  the  time  between 
Pulwick  and  Bunratty,  if  I  remember  aright,  and  you 
heard  all  about  Adrian's  divers  attempts  to  land  in  Eng- 
land, about  his  tight  with  the  King's  men,  his  crack  on 
the  head  and  final  impressment.  At  least  you  heard  as 
much  as  we  could  gather  ourselves.  Adrian  is  not  what 
one  would  call  a  garrulous  person  at  the  best  of  times. 
It  was  really  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  we  managed 
to  extract  enough  out  of  him  to  piece  together  a  coherent 
tale." 

"Well,  well,"  quoth  Tanty,  with  impatience,  "you 
are  glib  enough  for  two  anyhow,  my  dear  !  All  this  does 
not  tell  me  how  Adrian  came  to  live  on  a  lighthouse,  and 
why  you  put  him  down  as  a  lunatic." 

"Not  as  a  lunatic,"  corrected  Rupert,  gently,  "merely 
as  slightly  eccentric  on  certain  points.  Though,  indeed,  if 
you  had  seen  him  during  those  first  months  after  his  re- 
turn, I  think  even  you  with  your  optimistic  spirit  would 
have  feared,  as  we  did,  that  he  was  falling  into  melan- 
cholia. Thank  heaven  he  is  better  now.  But,  dear  me, 
what  we  went  through  !  I  declare  I  expected  every 
morning  to  be  informed  that  Sir  Adrian's  corpse  had  been 
found  hangmg  from  his  bedpost  or  discovered  in  a  jelly 
at  the  bottom  of  the  bluffs.  And,  indeed,  when  at  length 
he  disappeared  for  three  days,  after  he  had  been  last  ob- 
served mooning  along  the  coast,  there  was  a  terrible 
panic  lest  he  should  have  sought  a  congenial  and  sooth- 

9 


I30  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

ing  end  in  the  embraces  of  the  quicksands It 

turned  out,  however,  that  he  had  merely  strolled  over  to 
Scarthey — where,  as  you  know,  my  father  established  a 
beacon  and  installed  a  keeper  to  warn  boats  off  our 
shoals — and,  finding  the  place  to  his  liking,  had  remained 
there,  regardless  of  our  feelings." 

"Tut,  tut  !  "  said  Tanty ;  but  whether  in  reproof  of 
Rupert's  flippant  language  or  of  her  elder  nephew's 
erratic  behaviour,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  de- 
termine. 

"Of  course,"  went  on  Rupert,  smoothly,  "I  had  re- 
solved, after  a  decent  period,  to  remove  my  lares  and 
penates  from  a  house  where  I  was  no  longer  master  and 
to  establish  myself,  with  my  small  patrimony  (I  believe 
I  ought  to  call  it  matrimony,  as  we  younger  children 
benefit  by  our  O'Donoghue  mother)  in  an  independent 
establishment.  But  when  I  first  broached  the  subject, 
Adrian  was  so  vastly  distressed,  expressed  himself  so  well 
satisfied  with  my  management  of  the  estate  and  begged 
me  so  earnestly  to  consider  Pulwick  as  my  home,  vowing 
that  he  himself  would  never  marry,  and  that  all  he  looked 
forward  to  in  life  was  to  see  me  wedded  and  with  future 
heirs  to  the  name  springing  around  me,  that  it  would 
have  been  actual  unkindness  to  resist.  Moreover,  as  you 
can  imagine,  Adrian  is  not  exactly  a  man  of  business, 
and  his  spasmodic  interferences  in  the  control  of  the 
property  being  already  then  of  a  very  injudicious  nature, 
I  confess  that,  having  nursed  it  myself  for  eleven  years 
with  some  success,  I  dreaded  to  think  what  it  would  be- 
come under  his  auspices.  And  so  I  agreed  to  remain.  But 
the  position  increased  in  difficulty.  Adrian's  moroseness 
seemed  to  grow  upon  him  ;  he  showed  an  exaggerated 
horror  of  company  ;  either  flying  from  visitors  as  from 
the  pest,  and  shutting  himself  up  in  his  own  apartments, 
or  (on  the  few  disastrous  occasions  when  my  persuasions 
induced  him  to  show  himself  to  some  old  family  friends) 
entertaining  them  with  such  unusual  sentiments  concern- 
ing social  laws,  the  magistracy,  the  government,  his 
Majesty  the  King  himself,  that  the  most  extraordinary 
reports  about  him  soon  spread  over  the  whole  county. 
This  was  about  the  time — as  you  may  remember — of  my 
own  marriage." 

Here  an  alteration  crept  into  INIr.  Landale's  voice,  and 


A  RECORD  AND  A  PRESENTMENT     131 

Molly  looked  at  him  curiously,  while  Miss  Sophia  gave 
vent  to  an  audible  sniff. 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Tanty,  hastily.  Comfortably' 
egotistic  old  ladies  have  an  instinctive  dislike  to  painful 
topics.  And  that  Rupert's  sorrow  for  his  young  wife  had 
been,  if  self-centred  and  reserved,  of  an  intense  and  pro- 
longed nature  was  known  to  all  the  family. 

The  widower  himself  had  no  intention  of  dilating  upon 
it.  His  wife's  name  he  never  mentioned,  and  no  one 
could  guess,  heavily  as  the  blow  was  known  to  have 
fallen  upon  him,  the  seething  bitterness  that  her  loss  had 
left  in  his  soul,  nor  imagine  how  different  a  man  he  might 
have  been  if  that  one  strong  affection  of  his  life  had  been 
spared  to  soften  it. 

"Adrian  fled  from  the  wedding  festivities,  as  you  may 
remember,  for  you  were  our  honoured  guest  at  the  time, 
and  greatly  displeased  at  his  absence,"  he  resumed,  after 
a  few  seconds  of  darkling  reflection,  "  None  of  us  knew 
where  he  had  flown  to,  for  he  did  not  evidently  consider 
his  owl's  nest  sufficiently  remote  ;  but  we  had  his  fraternal 
blessing  to  sustain  us.  And  after  that  he  continued  to 
make  periodical  disappearances  to  his  retreat,  stopping 
away  each  time  longer  and  longer.  One  fine  day  he  sent 
workmen  to  the  island  with  directions  to  repair  certain 
rooms  in  the  keep,  and  he  began  to  transfer  thereto  fur- 
niture, his  books  and  his  organ.  A  dilapidated  little 
French  prisoner  next  appeared  on  the  scene  (whom  my 
brother  had  extracted  from  theTower  of  Liverpool,  which 
was  then  crammed  with  such  gentry),  and  finally  we 
were  informed  that,  with  this  worthy  companion,  Sir 
Adrian  Landale  was  determined  to  take  up  his  abode 
altogether  at  Scarthey,  undertaking  the  duties  of  the 
recently  defunct  light-keeper.  So  off  he  went,  and  there 
he  is  still.  He  has  extracted  from  us  a  solemn  promise 
that  his  privacy  is  to  be  absolutely  respected,  and  that 
no  communications,  or,  above  all,  visits  are  to  be  made 
to  him.  Occasionally,  when  we  least  expect  it,  he  de- 
scends upon  us  from  his  tower,  upsets  all  my  accounts, 
makes  the  most  absurd  concessions  to  the  tenants,  rides 
round  the  estate  with  his  eyes  on  the  ground  and  disap- 
pears again.     Etvoila,  my  dear  aunt,  how  we  stand." 

"  Well,  nephew,"  said  Miss  O'Donoghue,  "I  am  much 
obliged  to  you,  I  am  sure,   for  putting  me  au  courant  of 


132  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

the  family  affairs.     It  is  all  very  sad — very  sad  and  very 
deplorable  ;  but " 

But  Mr.  Landale  was  quite  aware  that  Tanty  was  not 
yet  convinced  to  the  desired  extent.  He  therefore  here 
interrupted  her  to  play  his  last  card — that  ace  he  had  up 
his  sleeve,  in  careful  preparation  for  this  trial  of  skill  with 
his  keen-witted  relative,  and  to  the  suitable  production 
of  which  he  had  been  all  along  leading-. 

Rising  from  his  chair  with  slow,  deliberate  movement, 
he  proceeded,  as  if  following  his  own  train  of  thought, 
without  noticing  that  Miss  O'Donoghue  was  intent  on 
speech  herself: 

"  You  have  not  seen  him,  I  believe,  since  he  was  quite 
a  lad.  You  would  have  some  difficulty  in  recognising 
him,  though  he  bears,  like  the  rest  of  us,  what  you  call 
the  unmistakable  Landale  stamp.  His  portrait  is  here, 
by  the  way — duly  installed  in  its  correct  position.  That," 
with  a  laugh,  "  was  one  of  his  freaks.  It  was  his  duty  to 
keep  up  the  family  traditions,  he  said — and  there  you  will 
approve  of  him,  no  doubt ;  but  hardly,  perhaps,  of  the 
manner  in  which  he  has  had  that  laudable  intention  carried 
out.  My  own  portrait  was,  of  course,  deposed  (like  the 
original),"  added  Mr.  Landale,  with  something  of  a  sneer  ; 
"  and  now  hangs  meekly  in  some  bedroom  or  other — in 
that,  if  I  mistake  not,  at  present  hallowed  by  my  fair 
cousins'  presence.  Well,  it  is  good  for  the  soul  of  man 
to  be  humbled,  as  we  are  taught  to  believe  from  our 
earliest  years  !  " 

Tanty  was  fumbling  for  her  eye-glasses.  She  was  glad 
to  hear  that  Adrian  had  remembered  some  of  his  obliga- 
tions (she  observed,  sententiously,  as  she  hauled  herself 
stiffly  out  of  her  chair  to  approach  the  chimney-piece);  it 
was  certainly  a  sign  that  he  was  more  mindful  of  his 
duties  as  head  of  the  house  than  one  would  expect  from 
a  person  hardly  responsible,  such  as  Rupert  had  repre- 
sented him  to  be,  and  .... 

Here,  the  glasses  being  adjusted  and  focussed  upon  the 
portrait,  Miss  O'Donoghue  halted  abruptly  with  a  drop- 
ping jaw. 

"  There  is  a  curious  inscription  underneath  the  escutch- 
eon," said  Mr.  Landale  composedly,  "  which  latter,  by 
the  way,  you  may  notice  is  the  only  one  in  the  line  which 
has  no  room  for  an  irnpaled  coat  (Adrian's  way  of  indicat- 


A  RECORD  AND  A  PRESENTMENT     133 

ing  not  only  that  he  is  single,  but  means  to  remain  such) ; 
Adrian  composed  it  himself  and  indeed  attached  a  marked 
importance  to  it.  Let  me  read  it  for  you,  dear  Tanty, 
the  picture  hangs  a  little  high  and  those  curveting  letters 
are  hard  to  decipher.      It  runs  thus  : 

Sir  Adrta?i  William  Hugh  Landale,  Lord  of  Pulwick 
and  Scarihey  in  the  County  Palatine  of  Lancaster,  eighth 
Baronet,  horn  March  \2th,  1775.  Succeeded  to  the  title  and 
estate  on  the  loth  February  lygg,  whilst  abroad.  Ijiiqui- 
tously  pressed  i?ito  the  King's  service  on  the  day  o/his  return 
hom.e,fanuary  2?id,  1801.  Twice  flogged  for  alleged  insub- 
ordination, and  o?ily  released  at  last  by  the  help  of  a  friend 
after  five  years  of  slavery.     Died  [Here  a  space 

for  the  date.]  It  is  a  record  with  a  vengeance,  is  it  not .? 
Notice  my  brother's  determination  to  die  unmarried  and 
to  retire,  once  for  all,  from  all  or  any  of  the  possible 
honours  connected  with  his  position  !" 

They  had  all  clustered  in  front  of  the  picture  ;  even 
Madeleine  roused  from  her  sweet  day-dreams  to  some 
show  of  curiosity  ;  Miss  Landale's  bosom,  heaving  with 
such  sighs  as  to  make  the  tombstone  rise  and  fall  like  a 
ship  upon  a  stormy  sea  ;  Molly  with  an  eagerness  she 
did  not  attempt  to  hide ;  and  Miss  O'Donoghue  still 
speechless  with  horror  and  indignation. 

Mr.  Landale  had  gauged  his  aunt's  temperament  cor- 
rectly enough.  To  one  whose  ruling  passion  was  pride 
of  family,  this  mockery  of  a  consecrated  family  custom, 
this  heirloom  destined  to  carry  down  a  record  of  degrada- 
tion into  future  generations,  was  an  insult  to  the  name 
only  to  be  explained  to  her  first  indignation  by  deliberate 
malice — or  insanity. 

And  from  the  breezy  background  of  blue  sky  and  sea, 
contrasting  as  strangely  with  the  dark  solemnity  of  the 
other  portraits  as  did  the  figure  itself  in  its  incongruous 
sailor  dress,  the  face  of  the  eighth  baronet  looked  down 
in  melancholy  gravity  upon  the  group  gathered  in  judg- 
ment upon  him. 

"  Disgraceful !  Positively  disgraceful !  "  at  length  cried 
the  last  representative  of  the  O'Donoghues  of  Bunratty,  in 
scandalised  tones.  "  My  dear  Rupert,  you  should  have 
a  curtain  put  up,  that  this  exhibition  of  folly — of  madness, 
I  hardly  know  what  to  call  it — be  not  exposed  to  every 
casual  visitor.     Dear  me,  dear  me,  that  I  should  live  to 


134  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

see  any  of  my  kin  deliberately  throw  discredit  on  his 
family,  if  indeed  the  poor  fellow  is  responsible  !  Rupert, 
my  good  soul,  can  you  ascribe  any  reason  for  this  terrible 
state  of  affairs  ....    that  blow  on  the  head  ?  " 

"  In  part  perhaps, "  said  ]\Ir.  Landale.  "  And  yet  there 
have  been  other  causes  at  work.  If  I  could  have  a  private 
word  in  your  ear,"  glancing  meaningly  over  his  shoulder 
at  the  two  young  girls  who  were  both  listening,  though 
with  very  different  expressions  of  interest  and  favou,  "I 
could  give  you  my  opinion  more  fully." 

"Go  away  now,  my  dear  creatures, "  hereupon  said 
Miss  O'Donoghue,  promptly  addressing  her  nieces.  "It 
is  a  fine  morning,  and  you  will  lose  your  roses  if  you 
don't  get  the  air.  I  don't  care  if  it  has  begun  to  rain, 
miss  !  Go  and  have  a  game  of  battledore  and  shuttle- 
cock then.  Young  people  musi  have  exercise.  Well,  my 
dear  Rupert,  well  !  " — when  Molly,  with  a  pettish  "battle- 
dore and  shuttlecock  indeed  !  "  had  taken  her  sister  by  the 
arm  and  left  the  room. 

"Well,  my  dear  aunt,  the  fact  is,  I  believe  my  unhappy 
brother  has  never  recovered  from — from  his  passion  for 
Ce'cile  de  Savenaye,  that  early  love  affair,  so  suddenly  and 
tragically  terminated — well,  it  seems  to  have  turned  his 
brain  !  " 

"  Pooh,  pooh  !  why  that  was  twenty  years  ago.  Don't 
tell  me  it  is  in  a  man  to  be  so  constant." 

"  In  no  sa?ie  man  perhaps  ;  but  then,  you  know,Tanty, 
that  is  just  the  point  ....  Remember  the  circum- 
stances. He  loved  her  madly ;  he  followed  her,  lived 
near  her  for  months  and  she  was  drowned  before  his  eyes, 
1  believe.  I  never  heard,  of  course,  any  details  of  that 
strange  period  of  his  life,  but  we  can  imagine."  This 
was  a  difficult,  vague,  subject  to  deal  with,  and  Mr.  Lan- 
dale wisely  passed  on.  "  Moreover,  his  behaviour  when 
in  this  house  on  his  return  at  first  has  left  me  no  doubt. 
I  watched  him  closely.  He  was  for  ever  haunting  those 
rooms  which  she  had  inhabited.  When  he  found  her 
miniature  in  the  drawing-room  he  went  first  as  white  as 
death,  then  he  took  it  in  his  hand  and  stood  gazing  at  it 
(I  am  not  exaggerating)  for  a  whole  hour  without  mov- 
ing ;  and,  finally,  he  carried  it  off,  and  I  know  he  used  to 
talk  to  it  in  his  room.  And  now,  even  if  I  had  not  given 
my  poor  brother  my  word  of  honour  never  to  disturb  his 


A  RECORD  AND  A  PRESENTMENT     135 

chosen  solitude,  I  should  have  felt  it  a  heavy  responsi- 
bility to  promote  a  meeting  which  would  inevitably  bring 
back  past  memories  in  a  troublous  manner  upon  him. 
In  fact,  were  he  to  come  across  the  children  of  his  dead 
love — above  all  Molly,  who  must  be  startlingly  like  her 
mother — what  might  the  result  be  ?  I  hardly  like  to 
contemplate  it.  The  human  brain  is  a  very  delicately 
balanced  organ,  my  dear  aunt,  and  once  it  gets  ever  so 
slightly  out  of  order  one  cannot  be  too  careful  to  avoid 
risk." 

He  finished  his  say  with  an  expressive  gesture  of  the 
hand.  Miss  O'Donoghue  remained  for  a  moment  plunged 
in  reflection,  during  which  the  cloud  upon  her  counte- 
nance gradually  lifted. 

"It  is  a  strange  thing,"  she  said  at  last,  "but  con- 
stancy seems  to  run  in  the  family.  There  is  no  denying 
that.      Here  is  Sophia,  a  ridiculous  spectacle — and  you 

yourself,  my  dear  Rupert And  now  poor  Adrian, 

too,  and  his  case  of  mere  calf-love,  as  one  would  have 
thought." 

"A  calf  may  grow  into  a  fine  bull,  you  know,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Landale,  who  had  winced  at  his  aunt's  allu- 
sion to  himself  and  now  spoke  in  the  most  unemotional 
tone  he  could  assume,  "  especially  if  it  is  well  fostered  in 
its  youth." 

"And  I  suppose,"  said  Miss  O'Donoghue,  with  a  faint 
smile,  "  you  think  I  ought  to  know  all  about  bulls."  She 
again  put  up  her  glasses  to  survey  the  portrait  with  crit- 
ical deliberation  ;  after  which,  recommending  him  once 
more  strenuously  to  have  a  curtain  erected,  she  observed, 
that  it  would  break  her  heart  to  look  at  it  one  moment 
longer  and  requested  to  be  conducted  from  the  room. 

Mr.  Landale  could  not  draw  any  positive  conclusion 
from  his  aunt's  manner  of  receiving  his  confidence,  nor 
determine  whether  she  had  altogether  grasped  the  whole 
meaning  of  what  he  had  intended  delicately  to  convey  to 
her  concerning  his  brother's  past  as  well  as  present  posi- 
tion ;  but  he  had  said  as  much  as  prudence  counselled. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  DISTANT  LIGHT 

In  spite  of  their  first  petulant  or  dolorous  anticipation, 
and  of  the  contrast  between  the  even  tenor  of  country- 
life  and  the  constant  stream  of  amusement  which  young 
people  of  fashion  can  find  in  a  place  like  Bath,  the  two 
girls  discovered  that  time  glided  pleasantly  enough  over 
them  at  Pulwick. 

Instead  of  the  gloomy  northern  stronghold  their  novel- 
fed  imagination  had  pictured  (the  more  dismally  as  their 
sudden  removal  from  town  gaieties  savoured  distantly  of 
punishment  at  the  hand  of  their  irate  aunt),  they  found 
themselves  delivered  over  into  a  bright,  admirably- 
ordered  house,  replete  with  things  of  beauty,  comfortable 
to  the  extremity  of  luxury  ;  and  allowed  in  this  place  of 
safety  to  enjoy  almost  unrestricted  liberty. 

The  latter  privilege  was  especially  precious,  as  the 
sisters  at  that  time  had  engrossing  thoughts  of  their  own 
they  wished  to  pursue,  and  found  more  interest  in  solitary 
roamings  through  the  wide  estate  than  in  the  company  of 
the  hosts. 

On  the  fifth  day  Miss  O'Donoghue  took  her  departure. 
Her  own  travelling  coach  had  rumbled  down  the  avenue, 
bearing  her  and  her  woman  away,  in  its  polished 
yellow  embrace,  her  flat  trunk  strapped  behind,  and  the 
good-natured  old  face  nodding  out  of  the  window,  till 
Molly  and  Madeleine,  standing  (a  little  disconsolate)  upon 
the  porch  to  watch  her  departure,  could  distinguish  even 
the  hooked  nose  no  longer.  Mr.  Landale,  upon  his 
mettled  grey,  a  gallant  figure,  as  Molly  herself  was  forced 
to  admit,  in  his  boots  and  buckskins,  had  cantered  in  the 
dust  alongside,  intent  upon  escorting  his  aged  relative  to 
the  second  stage  of  her  journey. 

That  night,  almost  for  the  first  time  since  their  arrival, 
there  was  no  company  at  dmner,  and  the  young  guests 

136 


THE  DISTANT  LIGHT  137 

understood  that  the  household  would  now  fall  back  into 
its  ordinary  routine. 

But  without  the  small  flutter  of  seeing  strangers,  or 
Tanty's  lively  conversation,  the  social  intercourse  soon 
waned  into  exceeding  dulness,  and  at  an  early  hour  Miss 
Molly  rose  and  withdrew  to  her  room,  pretexting  a  head- 
ache, for  which  Mr.  Landale,  with  his  usual  high  courtesy, 
affected  deep  concern. 

As  she  was  slowly  ascending  the  great  oaken  staircase, 
she  crossed  Moggie,  the  gatekeeper's  daughter,  who  in 
her  character  of  foster-sister  to  one  of  the  guests  had 
been  specially  allotted  to  them  as  attendant,  during  the 
remainder  of  their  visit  to  Pulwick. 

Molly  thought  that  the  girl  eyed  her  hesitatingly,  as  if 
she  wished  to  speak  : 

"  Well,  Moggie.?"  she  asked,  stopping  on  her  way. 

"Oh,  please,  miss,"  said  the  buxom  lass,  blushing  and 
dropping  a  curtsey,  "  Renny  Potter,  please,  miss,  is  up  at 
our  lodge  to-night,  he  don't  care  to  come  to  the  'ouse  so 
much,  miss.  But  when  he  heard  about  you,  miss,  you 
could  have  knocked  him  down  with  a  feather  he  was  so 
surprised  and  that  excited,  miss,  we  have  never  seen 
him  so.  And  he's  so  set  on  being  allowed  to  see  ye 
both  ! " 

Molly  as  yet  failed  to  connect  any  memories  of  interest 
with  the  possessor  of  the  patronymic  mentioned,  but  the 
next  phrase  mentioned  aroused  her  attention. 

"  He  is  Sir  Adrian's  servant,  now,  miss,  and  goes  back 
yonder  to  the  island,  that  is  where  the  master  lives,  to- 
morrow morning.  But  he  would  be  so  happy  to  see  the 
young  ladies  before  he  goes,  if  the  liberty  were  forgiven, 
he  says.  He  was  servant  to  the  Madam  your  mother, 
miss." 

"Well,  Moggie,"  answered  Miss  Molly,  smiling,  "if 
that  is  all  that  is  required  to  make  Renny  Potter  happy, 
it  is  very  easily  done.  Tell  Renny  Potter  :  to-morrow 
morning."  And  she  proceeded  on  her  way  pondering, 
while  the  successful  emissary  pattered  down  to  the  lodge 
in  high  glee  to  gather  her  reward  in  her  sweetheart's 
company. 

When  later  on  Madeleine  joined  her  sister,  she  found 
her  standing  by  the  deep  recessed  window,  the  curtains 


138  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

of  which  were  drawn  back,  resting  her  head  on  her  hand 
against  the  wainscot,  and  gazing  abroad  into  the  night. 

She  approached,  and  passing  her  hand  round  Molly's 
waist  looked  out  also. 

"Again  at  your  window.''  " 

"It  is  a  beautiful  night,  and  the  view  very  lovely," 
said  Molly.  And  indeed  the  moon  was  riding  high  in  a 
deep  blue  starry  heaven,  and  shimmered  on  the  strip  of 
distant  sea  visible  from  the  windows. 

* '  Yes,  but  yesterday  the  night  was  not  fine,  and  nothing 
was  to  be  seen  but  blackness  ;  and  it  was  the  same  the 
day  before,  and  yet  you  stared  out  of  this  window,  as  you 
have  every  night  since  our  coming.  It  is  strange  to  see 
you  so.     What  is  it,  why  don't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"Madeleine,"  said  I\Iolly,  suddenly,  after  a  lengthy 
pause,  "  I  am  simply  haunted  by  that  light  over  yonder, 
the  Light  of  Scarthey.  There  is  a  mystery  about  those 
ruins,  on  which  I  keep  meditating  all  day  long.  I  want 
to  know  more.  It  draws  me.  I  would  give  anything  to 
be  able,  now,  to  set  sail  and  land  there  all  unknown  to 
any  one,  and  see  what  manner  of  life  is  led  where  that 
light  is  burning." 

But  Madeleine  merely  gave  a  pout  of  little  interest. 
"What  do  you  think  you  would  find.''  A  half-witted 
middle-aged  man,  mooning  among  a  litter  of  books,  with 
an  old  woman,  and  a  little  Frenchman  to  look  after  him. 
Why,  Mr.  Landale  himself  takes  no  trouble  to  conceal 
that  his  poor  brother  is  an  almost  hopeless  lunatic." 

"Mr.  Landale — "  Molly  began,  with  much  contempt  ; 
but  she  interrupted  herself,  and  went  on  simply,  "  ]\Ir. 
Landale  is  a  very  fine  gentleman,  with  very  superior 
manners.  He  speaks  like  a  printed  book — but  for  all  that 
I  would  like  to  know." 

Madeleine  laughed.  "The  demon  of  curiosity  has  a 
hold  of  you,  Molly  ;  remember  the  fable  they  made  us 
repeat :  De  loiti  cest  quelque  chose,  el  de  pres  ce  7iesl  rien. 
Now  you  shall  go  straight  into  your  bed,  and  not  take  cold. " 

And  Miss  Madeleine,  after  authoritatively  closing  the 
curtains,  kissed  her  sister,  and  was  about  to  commence 
immediate  disrobing,  when  she  caught  sight  of  the  sha- 
green-covered book,  lying  open  on  the  table. 

"So  your  headache  was  your  diary — how  I  should  like 
to  have  a  peep." 


THE  DISTANT  LIGHT  139 

"  I  daresay  !  "  said  Molly,  sarcastically,  and  then  sat 
down  and,  pen  in  hand,  began  to  re-read  her  night's  entry, 
now  and  then  casting  a  tantalising  glance  over  her  shoul- 
der at  her  sister.  The  lines,  in  the  flowing  convent  hand, 
ran  thus  : 

"  Aunt  O'Donoghue  left  us  this  morning,  and  so  here 
we  are,  planted  in  Pulwick  ;  and  she  has  achieved  her  plan, 
fully.  But  what  is  odd  is  that  neither  Madeleine  nor  1 
seem  to  mind  it,  now.  What  has  come  over  Madeleine 
is  her  secret,  and  she  keeps  it  close;  but  that /should 
like  being  here  is  strange  indeed. 

"And  yet,  every  day  something  happens  to  make  me 
feel  connected  with  Pulwick — something  more,  I  mean, 
than  the  mere  fact  that  we  were  born  here.  So  many 
of  the  older  people  greet  me,  at  first,  as  if  they  knew  me 
— they  all  say  I  am  so  like  *  the  Madam  ; '  they  don't  see 
the  same  likeness  in  Madeleine  for  all  her  grand  air. 
There  was  Mrs.  Mearson,  the  gatekeeper,  was  struck 
in  amazement.  And  the  old  housekeeper,  whenever  she 
has  an  opportunity  tries  to  entertain  me  about  the  beauti- 
ful foreign  lady  and  the  grand  times  they  had  at  Pulwick 
when  she  was  here,  and  "Sir  Tummas  '  was  still  alive. 

"But,  though  we  are  made  to  feel  that  we  are  more 
than  ordinary  guests,  it  is  not  on  account  of  Mr.  Landale, 
hxxi  071  accotmt 0/ Sir  Adrian — the  Master,  as  they  call  him, 
whom  we  never  see,  and  whom  his  brother  would  make 
out  to  be  mad.  Why  is  he  so  anxious  that  Sir  Adrian 
should  not  know  that  Aunt  Rose  has  brought  us  here .? 
He  seemed  willing  enough  to  please  her,  and  yet  nothing 
that  she  could  say  of  her  wish  could  induce  him  even  to 
send  a  messenger  over  to  the  rock.  And  now  we  maybe 
here  all  these  two  months  and  never  even  have  caught  a 
sight  of  the  Master.  I  wonder  if  he  is  still  like  that  por- 
trait— whether  he  bears  that  face  still  as  he  now  sits,  all 
alone,  brooding  as  his  brother  says,  up  in  those  ruined 
chambers,  while  the  light  burns  calm  and  bright  in  the 
tower  !     What  can  this  man  of  his  have  to  say  to  me  ?  " 

Molly  dotted  her  last  forgotten  "i,"  blotted  it,  closed 
and  carefully  locked  the  book.  Then,  rising,  she  danced 
over  to  her  sister,  and  forced  her  into  a  pirouette. 

"And  now,"  she  cried  gaily,  "our  dear  old  Tanty  is 
pulling  on  her  nightcap  and  weeping  over  her  posset  in 
the  stuffy  room  at  Lancaster  regretting  me  ;  and  I  should 


I40  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

be  detesting  her  with  all  my  energies  for  leaving  me 
behind  her,  were  it  not  that,  just  at  present,  I  actually  find 
Pulwick  more  interesting  than  Bath." 

Madeleine  lifted  her  heavy-lidded  eyes  a  little  wonder- 
ingly  to  her  sister's  face,  as  she  paused  in  her  gyration. 

"  What  fly  stings  thee  now  ?  "  she  inquired  in  French, 

"You  do  not  tell  me  about  jy our  wounds,  my  dear, 
those  wounds  which  little  Dan  Cupid  has  made  upon  your 
tender  heart,  with  his  naughty  little  arrow,  and  which  give 
you  such  sweet  pain,  apparently,  that  you  revel  in  the 
throes  all  day  long.  And  yet,  I  am  a  good  child ;  you 
shall  guess.  If  you  guess  aright,  I  shall  tell  you.  So 
now  begin." 

They  stood  before  the  fire,  and  the  leaping  tongues  of 
light  played  upon  their  white  garments,  Madeleine's  night- 
gear  scarcely  more  treacherously  tell-tale  of  her  slender 
woman's  loveliness  than  the  evening  robe  that  clung  so 
closely  to  the  vigorous  grace  of  Molly's  lithe  young 
figure. 

The  elder,  whose  face  bore  a  blush  distinct  from  the 
reflected  glow  of  the  embers,  fell  to  guessing,  as  com- 
manded, a  little  wildly  : 

"You  begin  to  find  the  beau  cousin  Rupert  a  little  more 
interesting  than  you  anticipated." 

"Bah,"  cried  Molly,  with  a  stamp  of  her  sandalled  foot, 
"it  is  not  possible  to  guess  worse  !  He  is  more  insuffer- 
able to  me,  hour  by  hour." 

"I  think  him  kind  and  pleasant,"  returned  Madeleine 
simply. 

"Ah,  because  he  makes  sweet  eyes  at  you,  I  suppose — 
yet  no — I  express  myself  badly — he  could  not  make  any- 
thing sweet  out  of  those  hard,  hard  eyes  of  his,  but  he  is 
very — what  they  call  here  in  England — attentive  to  you. 
And  he  looks  at  you  and  ponders  you  over  when  you 
little  think  it — you  poor  innocent — lost  in  your  dream 
of  ...  .  Smith  I  There,  I  will  not  tease  you.  Guess 
again." 

"You  are  pleased  to  remain  here  because  you  are  a 
true  weather-cock — because  you  like  one  thing  one  day 
another  the  next — because  the  country  peace  and  quiet  is 
soothing  to  you  after  the  folly  and  noise  of  the  great  world 
of  Bath  and  Dublin,  and  reminds  you  refreshingly,  as  it 
does  me,  of  our  happy  convent  days."     The  glimmer  of 


THE  DISTANT  LIGHT  141 

a  dainty  malice  lurked  in  the  apparent  candour  of  Made- 
leine's grave  blue  eyes,  and  from  thence  spread  into  her 
pretty  smile  at  the  sight  of  Molly's  disdainful  lip,  "Well 
then,  I  give  it  up.  You  have  some  mischief  on  foot,  of 
that  at  least  I  am  sure." 

"No  mischief — a  work  of  righteousness  rather.  Sister 
Madeleine,  you  heard  all  that  that  gallant  gentleman  you 
think  so  highly  of — your  cousin  Rupert,  my  dear"  (it  was 
a  little  way  of  Molly's  to  throw  the  responsibility  of  any- 
thing she  did  not  like,  even  to  an  obnoxious  relationship, 
upon  another  person's  shoulders),  ' '  narrated  of  his  brother 
Sir  Adrian,  and  how  he  persuaded  Tanty  that  he  was,  as 
you  said  just  now,  a  hopeless  madman — " 

"But  yes — he  does  mad  things,"  said  the  elder  twin,  a 
little  wonderingly. 

"  Well,  Madeleine,  it  is  a  vile  lie.  I  am  convinced  of 
it." 

"  But,  my  darling " 

"Look  here,  Madeleine,  there  is  something  behind  it 
all.  I  attacked  that  creature,  that  rag,  you  cannot  call 
her  a  woman,  that  female  cousin  of  yours,  Sophia,  and  I 
pressed  her  hard  too,  but  she  could  not  give  me  a  single 
instance  about  Sir  Adrian  that  is  really  the  least  like  in- 
sanity ;  and  last  night,  when  the  young  fool  who  escorted 
me  to  dinner,  Coventry  his  name  was,  told  me  that  every 
one  says  Sir  Adrian  is  shut  up  on  the  island  and  that  his 
French  servant  is  really  his  keeper,  and  that  it  was  a 
shame  Rupert  was  not  the  eldest  brother,  I  quite  saw  the 
sort  of  story  Master  Rupert  likes  to  spread — don't  inter- 
rupt, please  !  When  you  were  wool-gathering  over  the 
fire  last  night  (in  the  lively  and  companionable  way,  per- 
mit me  to  remark  in  parenthesis,  that  you  have  adopted 
of  late),  and  you  thought  I  was  with  Tanty,  I  had  marched 
off  with  my  flat  candlestick  to  the  picture  gallery  to  have 
a  good  look  at  the  so-called  lunatic.  I  dragged  over  a 
chair  and  lit  the  candles  in  the  candelabra  each  side  of 
the  chimney-piece,  and  then  standing  on  my  perch,  still, 
I  held  up  my  own  torch  and  I  saw  the  sailor  really  well. 
I  think  he  has  a  beautiful  face  and  that  he  is  no  more  mad 
than  I  am.  But  he  looks  so  sad,  so  sad  !  I  longed  to 
make  those  closed  lips  part  and  tell  me  their  secret.  And, 
as  I  was  looking  and  dreaming,  my  dear,  just  as  you 
might,  I  heard  a  little  noise,  and  there  was  Rupert,  only 


142  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

a  few  yards  off,  surveying  me  with  such  an  angry  gaze — 
Ugh  !  "  (with  a  shiver)  "  I  hate  such  ways.  He  came  in 
upon  me  with  soft  steps  like  some  animal.  Look  at  his 
portrait  there,  Madeleine  ! — Stay  !  I  shall  hold  up  the 
light  as  I  did  last  night  to  Sir  Adrian — see,  it  flickers  and 
glimmers  and  makes  him  seem  as  if  he  were  alive — oh, 
1  wish  he  were  not  hanging  in  front  of  our  beds,  staring 
out  at  us  with  those  eyes  !  You  think  them  very  fine,  I 
daresay,  that  is  because  his  lashes  are  as  thick  and  dark 
as  a  woman's — but  the  look  in  them,  my  dear — do  you 
know  what  it  reminds  me  of.?  Of  the  beautiful,  cruel 
greyhound  we  saw  at  the  coursing  at  that  place  near 
Bunratty  (you  remember,  just  before  they  started  the 
hare),  when  he  stood  for  a  moment  motionless,  looking 
out  across  the  plain.  I  can  never  forget  the  expression 
of  those  yellow-circled  eyes.  And,  when  I  see  Rupert 
look  at  you  as  if  he  were  fixing  something  in  the  far  dis- 
tance, it  gives  me  just  the  feeling  of  horror  and  sickness 
I  had  then.  (You  remember  how  dreadful  it  was  .-') 
Rupert  makes  me  think  of  a  greyhound,  altogether  he  is 
so  lithe  and  so  clean-cut,  and  so  full  of  eagerness,  a  sort 
of  trembling  eagerness  underneath  his  seeming  quiet,  and 
I  think  he  could  be  cruel." 

IMolly  paused  with  an  unusually  grave  and  reflective 
look  ;  IMadelcine  yawned  a  little,  not  at  all  impressed. 

"  How  you  exaggerate  !  "  she  said.  "Well  what  hap- 
pened when  he  came  in  and  caught  you  ?  The  poor 
man  !  I  suppose,  he  thought  you  were  setting  the  house 
on  fire." 

"  My  dear,  I  turned  as  red  as  a  poppy  and  began  blow- 
ing out  all  my  illumination,  feeling  dreadfully  guilty,  and 
then  he  helped  me  off  my  chair  with  such  an  air  of  polite- 
ness that  I  could  have  struck  him  with  pleasure,  but  I 
soon  gathered  my  wits  again.  And,  vexed  with  myself 
for  being  a  ninny,  I  just  dropped  him  a  little  curtsey  and 
said,  'I've  been  examining  my  mad  cousin.'  'Well,  and 
what  do  you  think  of  hini  ? '  he  asked  me,  smiling  (his 
abominable  smile  !).  But  lean  keep  my  thoughts  to  my- 
self as  well  as  other  people.  'I  think  he  is  very  hand- 
some,' I  answered,  and  then  I  wagged  my  head  and 
added,  '  Poor  fellow,'  just  as  if  I  thought  he  was  re.illy 
mad.  '  Poor  fellow  !  '  said  cousin  Rupert,  still  with  his 
smile.     Whereupon  we  interchanged  good-nights,  and  he 


THE  DISTANT  LIGHT  143 

ceremoniously  reconducted  me  to  my  door.  What  was 
he  spying-  after  me  for,  like  that  ?  My  dear,  your  cousin 
has  a  bad  conscience. — But  I  can  spy  too — I  have  been 
questioning  the  servants  to-day,  and  some  of  the  people 
on  the  estate." 

"Oh,  Molly!" 

"Come,  don't  be  so  shocked.  It  was  diplomatically, 
of  course,  but  I  am  determined  to  find  out  the  truth. 
Well,  so  far  from  looking  upon  Sir  Adrian  as  a  lunatic, 
they  all  adore  him,  it  seems  to  me.  He  comes  here 
periodically — once  every  three  months  or  so — and  it  is 
like  the  King's  Justices,  you  know — St.  Louis  of  France 
— he  redresses  all  wrongs,  and  listens  to  grievances  and 
gives  alms  and  counsel,  and  every  one  can  come  with 
his  story,  down  to  the  poorest  wretch  on  the  estate,  and 
they  certainly  gave  me  to  understand  that  they  would 
fare  pretty  hardly  under  Mr.  Landale  if  it  were  not  for 
that  mild  beneficent  restraining  influence  in  his  tovver 
yonder.  It  is  very  romantic,  do  you  know  (you  like 
romance,  Madeleine).  I  wonder  if  Sir  Adrian  will  come 
over  while  we  are  here.  Oh,  I  hope,  I  hope  he  will.  I 
shall  never  rest  till  I  have  seen  him." 

"  Silly  child,"  said  Madeleine,  "  and  so  that  is  the  rea- 
son you  are  glad  to  remain  here  ?  " 

"Even  so,  my  dear,"  answered  the  other,  skipped  into 
the  big  four-post  bed,  carefully  ascertained  and  selected 
the  softest  pillow,  and  then,  smiling  sweetly  at  her  sister 
from  under  a  frame  of  dark  curls,  let  her  white  lids  drop 
over  the  lustre  of  her  eyes  and  so  intimated  she  desired 
to  sleep. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE  TOWER  OF  LIVERPOOL:  MASTER  AND  MAN 

A  prison  is  a  house  of  care, 
A  place  where  none  can  thrive, 
A  Touchstone  True  to  try  a  friend, 
A  Grave  for  man  alive. 
Sometimes  a  place  of  right, 
Sometimes  a  place  of  wrong, 
Sometimes  a  place  of  rogues  and  thieves, 
And  honest  men  among. 

Old  Inscription. 

It  was  soon  after  sunrise — at  that  time  of  year  an 
hour  not  exorbitantly  early— when  Molly  awoke  from  a 
tangle  of  fantastic  dreams  in  which  the  haunting  figure 
of  her  waking  thoughts,  the  hermit  ofScarthey,  appeared 
to  her  in  varied  shapes ;  as  an  awe-inspiring,  saintly 
ascetic  with  long,  white  hair;  as  a  young,  beautiful, 
imprisoned  prince  ;  even  as  a  ragged  imbecile  staring 
vacantly  at  a  lantern,  somewhere  in  a  dismal  sea-cave. 

The  last  vision  was  uppermost  in  her  mind  when  she 
opened  her  eyes  ;  and  the  girl,  under  the  impression  of 
so  disgusting  a  disillusion,  remained  for  a  while  ponder- 
ing and  yawning,  before  making  up  her  mind  to  exchange 
warmth  and  featherbed  for  her  appointment  without. 

But  the  shafts  of  light  growing  through  the  chinks  in 
the  shutters  ever  brighter  and  more  full  of  dancing  motes, 
decided  her. 

"A  beautiful  morning,  Madeleine,"  .she  said,  leaning 
over  and  pulling  one  of  the  long  fair  strands  upon  her 
neighbour's  pillow  with  sisterly  authority.  "Get  up, 
lazy-bones,  and  come  and  have  a  walk  with  me  be- 
fore breakfast." 

The  sleeping  sister  awoke,  smiled  with  her  usual  ex- 
quisite serenity  of  temper,  and  politely  refused.  Molly  in- 
sisted, threatened,   coaxed,   but  to  no   avail.     Madeleine 

144 


THE  TOWER  OF  LIVERPOOL  145 

was  luxuriously  comfortable,  and  was  not  to  be  disturbed 
either  mentally  or  bodily  ;  and  Molly,  aware  of  the  resist- 
ing power  of  will  hidden  under  that  soft  exterior,  at 
length  petulantly  desisted  ;  and  wrapped  up  in  furs,  with 
hands  plunged  deep  into  the  recesses  of  a  gigantic  muff, 
soon  sallied  forth  herself  alone  into  the  park. 

Half-way  down  the  avenue  she  met  blue-eyed  Moggie 
with  round  face  shining  out  of  the  sharp,  exhilarating 
atmosphere  like  a  small  sun.  The  damsel  was  overcome 
with  blushes  and  rapture  at  her  young  mistress's  un- 
expected promptitude  in  carrying  out  her  promise,  and 
ran  back  to  warn  her  sweetheart  of  that  lady's  approach. 

As  Molly  drew  near  the  keeper's  lodge — a  sort  of  Doric 
temple,  quaintly  standing  in  the  middle  of  a  hedge-en- 
closed garden,  and  half-buried  under  thickly-clustering, 
interlacing  creepers — from  the  side  of  the  enormous  nest 
of  evergreen  foliage  there  emerged,  in  a  state  of  high  ex- 
citement strenuously  subdued,  a  short,  square-built  man 
(none  other  than  Rene  L'Apotre),  whilst  between  the 
boughs  of  the  garden-hedge  peeped  forth  the  bashful, 
ruddy  face  of  the  lady  of  his  fancy,  eager  to  watch  the 
interview. 

Rene  ran  forward,  then  stopped  a  few  paces  away,  hat 
in  hand,  scraping  and  bowing  in  the  throes  of  an  over- 
whelming emotion  that  strove  hard  with  humility. 

"Ah,  Mademoiselle,  Mademoiselle!"  he  ejaculated 
between  spells  of  amazed  staring,  and  seemed  unable  to 
bring  forth  another  word. 

"And  so  you  have  known  my  mother,  Rene,"  said 
Miss  Molly  (in  her  native  tongue)  with  a  smile. 

At  the  sound  of  the  voice  and  of  the  French  words, 
Rene's  face  grew  pale  under  its  bronze,  and  the  tears  he 
had  so  strongly  combated,  glistened  in  his  eyes. 

"  If  I  had  not  heard  last  night,"  he  said  at  length, 
"that  these  ladies  had  come  back — it  was  Moggie  Mear- 
son  who  told  me,  who  was  foster  sister  to  you,  or  was  it 
Mademoiselle  your  sister?  and  proud  she  is  of  it — if  I  had 
not  known  that  the  young  ladies  were  here  again,  when  I 
saw  Mademoiselle  I  would  have  thought  that  my  lady 
herself  had  returned  to  us  (may  the  good  God  have  her 
soul  !).  Ah,  to  think  that  I  should  ever  see  her  again  in 
the  light  of  the  sun  !  " 
10 


146  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

He  stopped,  suffocated  with  the  sob  that  his  respect 
would  not  allow  him  to  utter. 

But  Molly,  who  had  had  other  objects  in  view  when  she 
rose  from  her  couch  this  cold,  windy  morning,  than  to 
present  an  objective  to  a  serving-man's  emotion,  now 
thought  the  situation  had  lasted  long  enough  for  her  enjoy- 
ment and  determined  to  put  an  end  to  it. 

"  Eh  bien,  Ren^/'  she  said  gaily,  "  orshould  I  call  you 
Monsieur  Potter  ?  which,  by  the  way,  is  a  droll  name  for 
a  Frenchman,  I  am  very  glad  to  see  that  you  are  pleased 
to  see  me.  If  you  would  care  to  have  some  talk  with  me 
you  may  attend  me  if  you  like.  But  I  freeze  standing 
here,"  stamping  her  feet  one  after  the  other  on  the  hard 
ground.  "  I  must  absolutely  walk  ;  and  you  may  put  on 
your  hat  again,  please  ;  for  it  is  very  cold  for  you  too,"  she 
added,  snuggling  mto  her  muff  and  under  her  fur  tippet. 

The  man  obeyed  after  another  of  his  quaint  salutes,  and 
as  Molly  started  forward,  followed  her  respectfully,  apace 
in  rear. 

"  I  daresay  you  will  not  be  sorry  to  have  a  little  talk 
with  a  compatriot  in  your  own  tongue,  all  English  as  you 
may  have  grown,"  said  the  young  lady  presently  ;  "  and 
as  Moggie  has  told  me  that  you  were  in  my  mother's 
service,  there  is  a  whole  volume  of  things  which,  I  be- 
lieve, you  alone  can  relate  to  me.  You  shall  tell  me  all 
that,  one  day.  But  what  seems  to  me  the  most  curious, 
first  of  all,  is  your  presence  here.  'V\''e  ourselves  are  only 
at  Pulwick  by  chance." 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  Rene  in  an  earnest  voice,  "if 
you  knew  the  whole  story,  you  would  soon  understand 
that,  since  it  was  not  to  be,  that  I  should  remain  the 
humble  servitor  of  Monseigneur  le  Comte  de  Savenaye, 
Mademoiselle's  father,  or  of  Madame,  who  followed  him 
to  heaven,  notwithstanding  all  oureffortsto  preserve  her, 
it  is  but  natural  that  I  should  attach  myself  (since  he  would 
allow  it)  to  my  present  master." 

"Mr.  Landale.-*"  asked  Molly,  affecting  ignorance. 

"No,  Mademoiselle,"  cried  the  Frenchman,  hotly. 
"My  master  is  Sir  Adrian.  Had  Mr.  Landale  remained 
the  lord  of  this  place,  I  should  have  been  left  to  die  in  my 
prison — or  at  least  have  remained  there  until  this  spring, 
for  it  seems  there  is  peace  again,  and  the  Tower  of  Liver- 
pool is  empty  now." 


THE  TOWER  OF  LIVERPOOL  147 

"  Vqyons,  voyons,  conte  moi  cela,  Rene,"  said  Molly, 
turning  her  face,  beautifully  glowing  from  the  caress  of 
the  keen  air,  eagerly  to  her  companion.  And  he,  nothing 
loth  to  let  loose  a  naturally  garrulous  tongue  in  such  com- 
pany, and  on  such  a  theme,  started  off  upon  a  long  story 
illustrated  by  rapid  gesticulation. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  cried  he,  and  plunged  into  explana- 
tion with  more  energy  than  coherence,   "it  was  like  this  : 

"  I  had  been  already  two  years  in  that  prison  ;  we  were 
some  hundreds  of  prisoners,  and  it  was  a  cruel  place.  A 
cruel  place.  Mademoiselle,  almost  as  bad  as  that  where 
we  were  shut  up,  my  master  and  I  together,  years  before, 
at  La  Rochelle — and  that  I  will  tell  you,  if  you  wish, 
afterwards. 

"  I  had  been  taken  by  the  marine  conscription,  when  their 
Republic  became  the  French  Empire.  And  a  sailor  I  was 
then  (just,  as  I  heard  later,  as  Sir  Adrian  also  was  at  the 
time  ;  but  that  I  did  not  know,  you  understand),  for  they 
took  all  those  that  lived  on  the  coast.  Now  I  had  only 
served  with  the  ship  six  months,  when  she  was  taken  by  the 
English,  and,  as  I  say,  we  were  sent  to  the  prison  in 
Liverpool,  where  we  found  so  many  others,  who  had  been 
already  there  for  years.  When  I  heard  it  was  Liverpool, 
I  knew  it  was  a  place  nearPulwick,  and  I  at  once  thought 
of  Mr.  Landale,  not  him,  of  course,  they  now  call  Mr. 
Landale,  but  him  who  had  followed  my  mistress,  Madame 
your  mother,  to  help  to  tight  the  Republicans  in  the  old 
time.  And  I  thought  I  was  saved  :  I  knew  he  would  get 
me  out  if  it  was  possible  to  get  any  one  out.  For,  you 
see,  I  thought  his  honour  was  home  again,  after  we  had 
been  beaten,  and  there  was  no  more  to  be  done  for  my 
lady.  We  had  contrived  to  find  an  English  ship  to  take 
him  home,  and  he  had  gone  back,  as  I  thought,  Made- 
moiselle. Well,  a  prisoner  becomes  cunning,  and  be- 
sides, I  had  been  in  prison  before  ;  I  managed  to  make 
up  a  letter,  and  as  I  knew  already  some  English,  I  ended 
by  persuading  a  man  to  carry  it  to  Pulwick  for  me.  It 
was  a  long  way,  and  I  had  no  money,  but  I  made  bold 
to  assure  him  that  Mr.  Landale — oh,  no  !  not  Ihts  one," 
Ren^  interrupted  himself  again  with  a  gesture  eloquent 
of  resentful  scorn,  "  but  my  master  ;  I  assured  the  man 
that  he  would  receive  recompence  from  him.  You  see, 
Mademoiselle,   I  knew  his   heart  was  so  good,  that  he 


148  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

would   not  allow  your  mother's  servant  to    rot   in   the 

tower But  days  afterwards  the  man  came  back. 

Oh,  he  was  angry  !  terribly  angry  with  me,  and  said  he 
should  pay  me  out — And  so  he  did,  but  it  is  useless  to 
tell  you  how.  He  had  been  to  Pulwick,  he  said,  and  had 
seen  Mr.  Landale.  I\Ir.  Landale  never  knew  anything 
of  any  French  prisoner,  and  refused  to  give  any  money  to 
the  messenger.  Ah,  Mademoiselle,  it  was  very  sad  !  I 
had  not  signed  my  letter  for  fear  of  its  getting  into  wrong 
hands,  but  I  spoke  of  many  things  which  I  knew  he  could 
not  have  forgotten,  and  now  I  thought  that  he  would  not 
trouble  his  mind  about  such  a  wretch  as  Rene' — triple 
brute  that  I  was  to  conceive  such  thoughts,  I  should  have 
deserved  to  remain  there  for  ever  !....!  did  remain. 
Mademoiselle,  more  than  three  years  ;  many  and  many 
died.  As  for  me,  I  am  hard,  but  I  thought  I  should  never 
never  walk  free  again  ;  nor  would  I,  Mademoiselle,  these 
seven  years,  but  for  him." 

"He  came,  then.''"  said  the  girl  with  sympathetic 
enthusiasm.  She  was  listening  with  attention,  carried 
away  by  the  speakers  earnestness,  and  knew  instinctively 
to  whom  the  "  him,"  and  the  "  he  "  referred. 

"  He  came,"  said  Rend  with  much  emphasis.  "  Of 
course  he  came — the  moment  he  knew."  And  after  a 
moment  of  half-smiling  meditation  he  pursued  : 

"  It  was  one  May-day,  and  there  was  some  sun  ;  and 
there  was  a  smell  of  spring  in  the  air  which  we  felt  even  in 
that  dirty  place.  Ah,  how  I  remember  me  of  it  all  !  I  was 
sitting  against  the  wall  in  the  courtyard  with  two  others 
who  were  Bretons,  like  you  and  me.  Mademoiselle,  shifting 
with  the  sun  now  and  then,  for  you  must  know  a  prisoner 
loves  the  sun  above  all ;  and  there,  we  only  had  it  a  few 
hours  in  the  day,  even  when  it  did  shine.  I  was  carving 
some  stick-heads,  and  brcad-platcs  in  wood — the  only  thing 
I  could  do  to  put  a  little  more  than  bread,  into  our  own 
platters,"  with  a  grin,  "  and  whistling,  whistling,  for  if  you 

can't  be  gay,  it  is  best  to  play  at  it Well,  that  day 

into  our  courtyard  there  was  shown  a  tall  man — and  I  knew 
him  at  once,  though  he  was  different  enough  in  his  fine 
coat,  and  hat  and  boots,  from  the  time  when  I  had  last 
seen  him,  when  he  was  like  me,  in  rags  and  with  a  woollen 
cap  on  his  head,  and  no  stockings  under  his  shoes — I  knew 
him  at  once  1     And  when  I  saw  him  I  stood  still,  with  my 


THE  TOWER  OF  LIVERPOOL  149 

mouth  round,  but  not  whistling  more.  My  blood  went 
phizz,  phizz,  all  over  my  body,  and  suddenly  something 
said  in  my  head  :  '  Rene,  he  has  come  to  look  for  you. "  He 
was  searching  for  some  one,  for  he  went  round  with  the 
guardian  looking  into  each  man's  face,  and  giving  money 
to  all  who  begged — and  seeing  that,  they  all  got  up,  and 
surrounded  him,  and  he  gave  them  each  a  piece.  But  I 
could  not  get  up  ;  it  was  as  if  some  one  had  cut  out  my 
knees  and  my  elbows.  And  that  was  how  he  saw  me  the 
sooner.  He  noticed  I  remained  there,  looking  at  him 
like  a  dog,  saying  nothing.  When  he  saw  me,  he  stood 
a  moment  quite  quiet  ;  and  without  pretending  anything 
he  came  to  me  and  looked  down  smiling.  —  'But  if  I  am 
not  mistaken  I  know  this  man,'  he  said  to  the  guardian, 
pretending  to  be  astonished.  'Why,  this  is  Rene 
L'Apotre  ?  Who  would  have  thought  of  seeing  you  here, 
Rend  L'Apotre  ?  'says  he.  And  then  he  smiled  again,  as 
much  as  to  say,  'You  see  I  have  come  at  last,  Rene.' 
And  once  more,  as  if  to  explain  :  *  I  have  only  lately 
come  back  to  England,'  in  a  gentle  way,  all  full  of  mean- 
ing  I  don't  know  what  took  me,  but  I  cried  like 

an  infant,  in  my  cap.  And  the  guardian  and  some  of 
the  others  laughed,  but  when  I  looked  up  again,  his  eyes 
shone  also.  He  looked  so  good,  so  kind,  Mademoiselle, 
that  it  was  as  if  I  understood  in  words  all  he  meant,  but 
thought  better  not  to  say  at  the  time.  Then  he  spoke  to 
the  guardian,  who  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  And  after 
saying,  'Have  good  courage,  Rene  L'Apotre,'  and  giv- 
ing me  the  rest  of  his  money,  he  went  away — but  I  knew 
I  was  not  forgotten,  and  I  was  so  happy  that  the  black, 
black  walls  were  no  more  black.  And  I  sang,  not  for 
pretence  this  time,  ah  no  !  and  I  spent  all  my  money  in 
buying  a  dinner  for  those  at  our  end  of  the  prison,  and 
we  even  had  wine  !  You  may  be  sure  we  drank  to  his 
happiness." 

Here  the  man,  carried  away  by  his  feelings,  seized  his 
hat  and  waved  it  in  the  air.  Then,  ashamed  of  his  ebulli- 
tion, halted  and  glanced  diffidently  at  the  young  lady. 
But  Molly  only  smiled  in  encouragement. 

"  Well,  and  then  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Well,  Mademoiselle,"  he  resumed,  "  it  was  long  be- 
fore I  saw  him  again  ;  but  I  kept  good  courage,  as  I  was 
told.     One  day,  at  last,  the  guardian  came  to  fetch  me 


I50  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

and  took  me  to  the  g^overnor's  cabinet ;  and  my  master 
was  there — I  was  told  that  my  release  had  been  obtained, 
though  not  without  trouble,  and  that  Sir  Adrian  Landale, 
of  Pulwick  Priory,  had  gone  warranty  for  me  that  I  should 
not  use  my  liberty  to  the  prejudice  of  His  INIajesty,  the 
King  of  England,  and  that  1  was  to  be  grateful  to  Sir 
Adrian.  I  almost  laughed  at  him,  Mademoiselle.  Oh  ! 
he  took  care  to  advise  me  to  be  grateful  !  "  And  here 
Rene  paused  ironically,  but  there  was  a  quiver  on  his 
lips.  "Ah,  he  little  knew.  Monsieur  the  Governor,  that 
when  my  master  had  taken  me  to  an  inn,  and  the  door  was 
closed  over  the  private  room,  he  who  had  looked  so  grand 
and  careless  before  the  governor,  took  me  by  both  hands 
and  then,  in  his  fine  clothes,  embraced  me — me  the  dirty 
prisoner — ^just  as  he  did  when  he  left  me  in  the  old  days, 
and  was  as  poor  and  ragged  as  I  was  !  And  let  me  weep 
there  on  his  breast,  for  I  had  to  w^eep  or  my  heart  would 
have  broken.  But  I  wander.  Mademoiselle,  you  only 
wanted  to  know  how  I  came  to  be  in  his  service  still. 
That  is  how  it  was  ;   as  I  tell  you." 

Molly  was  moved  by  this  artless  account  of  fidelity 
and  gratitude,  and  as  she  walked  on  in  attentive  silence, 
Rene  went  on  : 

"It  was  then  his  honour  made  me  know  how,  only  by 
accident,  and  months  after  his  own  return,  he  chanced 
to  hear  of  the  letter  that  some  one  had  sent  to  INIr.  Lan- 
dale from  the  Tower  of  Liverpool,  and  that  Mr.  Landale 
had  said  he  knew  nothing  of  any  French  prisoner  and 
had  thought  it  great  impudence  indeed.  And  how  he — 
my  master — had  suddenly  thought  (though  my  letter  had 
been  destroyed)  that  it  might  be  from  me,  the  servant  of 
my  lady  your  mother,  and  his  old  companion  in  arms 
(for  his  honour  will  always  call  me  so).  He  could  not 
sleep,  he  told  me,  till  he  had  found  out.  He  started  for 
Liverpool  that  very  night.  And,  having  discovered  that 
it  was  me.  Mademoiselle,  he  never  rested  till  he  had 
obtained  my  liberty." 

Walking  slowly  in  the  wnnter  sunshine,  the  one  talking 
volubly,  the  other  intently  listening,  the  odd  pair  had 
reached  a  rising  knoll  in  the  park  where,  under  the  shelter 
of  a  cluster  of  firs,  stood  a  row  of  carved  stone  seats  that 
had  once  been  sedillas  in  the  dismantled  Priory  Church. 


THE  TOWER  OF  LIVERPOOL  151 

From  this  secluded  spot  could  be  obtained  the  most 
superb  view  of  the  whole  country-side.  At  the  end  of  the 
green,  gently-sloping  stretch  of  pasture-land,  which  ex- 
tended, broken  only  by  irregular  clusters  of  trees,  down 
to  the  low  cliffs  forming  the  boundary  of  the  strand,  lay 
the  wide  expanse  of  brown  sand,  with  its  streamlets  and 
salt  pools  scintillating  under  the  morning  sun. 

Further  in  the  western  horizon,  a  crescent  of  deep  blue 
sea,  sharply  defined  under  a  lighter  blue  sky  and  fringed 
landwards  with  a  straggling  border  of  foam,  advanced 
slowly  to  the  daily  conquest  of  the  golden  bay.  In  the 
midst  of  that  frame  the  eye  was  irresistibly  drawn,  as  to 
the  chief  object  in  the  picture,  to  the  distant  rock  of 
Scarthey — a  green  patch,  with  the  jagged  red  outline  of 
the  ruins  clear  cut  against  the  sky. 

Since  this  point  of  view  in  the  park  had  been  made 
known  to  her,  on  the  first  day  when  she  was  piloted 
through  the  grounds,  Molly  had  more  than  once  found 
her  way  to  the  sedillas,  yielding  to  the  fascination  of  the 
mysterious  island,  and  in  order  to  indulge  in  the  fancies 
suggested  by  its  ever-changing  aspect. 

At  the  fall  of  day  the  red  glow  of  the  sinking  sun  would 
glint  through  the  dismantleci  windows  ;  and  against  the 
flaming  sky  the  ruins  would  stand  out  black  and  grim, 
suggesting  nought  but  abandonment  and  desolation  until 
suddenly,  as  the  gloom  gathered  upon  the  bay,  the  light 
of  the  lamp  springing  to  the  beacon  tower,  would  reverse 
the  impression  and  bring  to  mind  a  picture  of  faithful 
and  patient  watching. 

When  the  sun  was  still  in  the  ascendant,  the  island 
would  be  green  and  fresh  to  the  gaze,  evoking  no  dismal 
impression  ;  and  as  the  rays  glanced  back  from  the  two 
or  three  glazed  windows,  and  from  the  roofed  beacon- 
tower,  the  little  estate  wore  a  look  of  solid  security  and 
privacy  in  spite  of  its  crumbling  walls,  which  was  almost 
as  tantalising  to  her  romantic  curiosity. 

It  was  with  ulterior  motives, therefore,  that  she  had  again 
wended  her  way  to  the  knoll  this  sunny,  breezy  morning. 
She  now  sat  down  and  let  her  eyes  wander  over  the  wide 
panorama,  whilst  Rene  stood  at  a  humble  distance,  look- 
ing with  eyes  of  delight  from  her  to  the  distant  abode  of 
his  master. 

"And  now  you  live  with  Sir  Adrian,  in  that  little  isle 


152  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

yonder,"  said  she,  at  length.  "How  came  it  that  you 
never  sought  to  go  back  to  your  country?  " 

"There  was  the  war  then,  Mademoiselle,  and  it  was 
difficult  to  return." 

"  But  there  has  been  peace  these  six  months,"  insisted 
Molly. 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle,  though  I  only  learned  it  yester- 
day. But  then,  bah  !  What  is  that?  His  honour  needs 
me.  I  have  stopped  with  him  seven  years,  and  my  faith, 
I  shall  stop  with  him  for  ever." 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"Does  any  one  know,"  asked  Molly,  at  length,  with  a 
vague  air  of  addressing  the  trees,  mindful,  as  she  spoke, 
of  the  manner  in  which  Mr.  Landale  had  practically  dis- 
missed her  and  her  sister  at  a  certain  point  of  his  version 
of  his  brother's  history,  "  w/ijy  Sir  Adrian  has  shut  him- 
self up  in  that  place  instead  of  living  at  the  Hall  all  this 
time?" 

A  certain  dignity  seemed  to  come  over  the  servant's 
squat  figure.  He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  said 
very  simply,  his  honest  eyes  fixed  upon  the  girl's  face  : 
"  I  am  only  his  humble  servant.  Mademoiselle,  and  it  is 
enough  for  me  that  it  is  his  pleasure  to  live  alone." 

"You  are  indeed  faithful,"  said  Molly,  with  a  little 
generous  flush  of  shame  at  this  peasant's  delicacy  com- 
pared to  her  own  curiosity.  And,  after  another  pause, 
she  added,  pensively:  "But  tell  me,  does  Sir  Adrian 
never  leave  his  solitude  ?  I  confess  I  should  like  to  meet 
one  who  had  known  my  mother,  who  could  talk  of  her 
to  me." 

Ren^  looked  at  the  young  girl  with  a  wistful  counte- 
nance, as  though  the  question  had  embarked  him  on  a  new 
train  of  thought.  But  he  answered  evasively:  "His 
honour  comes  rarely  to  Pulwick — rarely." 

Molly,  with  a  little  movement  of  pique,  rose  abruptly 
from  her  seat.  But  quickly  changing  her  mood  again 
she  turned  round  as  she  was  about  to  depart,  and  smil- 
ing :  "Thank  you.  Rend,"  she  said,  and  held  out  her 
dainty  hand,  which  he,  blushing,  engulfed  in  his  great 
paw,  "  I  am  going  in,  I  am  dreadfully  hungry.  We  shall 
be  here  two  months  or  more,  and  1  shall  want  to  see  you 
again  ....   if  you  come  back  to  Pulwick." 

She  walked  quickly  away  towards  the  house.     Rend 


THE  TOWER  OF  LIVERPOOL  153 

followed  the  retreating  figure  with  a  meditative  look,  so 
long  as  he  could  keep  her  in  sight,  then  turned  his  gaze 
to  the  island  and  there  stood  lost  in  a  deep  muse,  regard- 
less of  the  fact  that  his  sweetheart,  Moggie,  was  awaiting 
a  parting  interview  at  the  lodge,  and  that  the  tide  that 
would  wait  for  no  man  was  swelling  under  his  boat  upon 
the  beach. 


A  sudden  resolution  was  formed  in  Molly's  mind  as  the 
immediate  result  of  this  conversation,  and  she  framed  her 
behaviour  that  morning  solely  with  a  view  to  its  further- 
ance. 

Breakfast  was  over  when,  glowing  from  her  morning 
walk,  she  entered  the  dining-room  ;  but,  regardless  of  Mr. 
Landale's  pointedly  elaborate  courtesy  in  insisting  upon 
a  fresh  repast  being  brought  to  her,  his  sarcastically  over- 
acted solicitude,  intended  to  point  out  what  a  deal  of 
avoidable  trouble  she  gave  to  the  household,  Molly  re- 
mained perfectly  gracious,  and  ate  the  good  things, 
plaintively  set  before  her  by  Miss  Landale,  with  the  most 
perfect  appetite  and  good  humour. 

She  expatiated  in  terms  of  enthusiasm  on  the  beauty  of 
the  estate  and  the  delight  of  her  morning  exploration,  and 
concluded  this  condescending  account  of  her  doings  (in 
which  the  meeting  with  Rene  did  not  figure)  with  a  re- 
quest that  Mr.  Landale  should  put  horses  at  the  disposal 
of  herself  and  her  sister  for  a  riding  excursion  that  very 
afternoon.  And  with  determined  energy  she  carried  the 
point,  declaring,  despite  his  prognostications  of  coming 
bad  weather,  that  the  sunshine  would  last  the  day. 

In  this  wise  was  brought  about  the  eventful  ride  which 
cost  the  life  of  Lucifer,  and  introduced  such  heart-stirring 
phantasmagories  into  the  even  tenor  of  Sir  Adrian  Lan- 
dale's seclusion. 


That  evening  the  news  rapidly  spread  throughout  Pul- 
wick  that  the  cruel  sands  of  the  bay  had  secured  yet 
another  victim. 

In  an  almost  fainting  condition,  speechless  with  horror, 
and  hardly  able  yet  to  realise  to  the  full  her  own  anguish, 


154  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

Madeleine  was  conducted  by  the  terrified  groom,  through 
the  howling  wind  and  drenching  rain,  back  to  the  Priory. 

And  there,  between  the  fearful  outcries  of  Miss  Landale, 
and  the  deep  frowning  gravity  of  her  brother,  the  man 
stammered  out  his  tale. — How  the  young  lady  when  the 
rain  first  began,  had  insisted,  notwithstanding  his  remon- 
strances, upon  taking  the  causeway  to  the  island,  and 
how  it  was  actually  by  force  that  he  prevented  the  other 
lady  from  following  so  soon  as  she  understood  the  danger 
into  which  her  sister  was  running. 

There  was  no  use,  he  had  thought  (explained  the  man, 
half  apologetically),  for  two  more  to  throw  away  their 
lives,  just  for  no  good,  that  way.  And  so  they  had  sat 
on  their  horses  and  watched  in  terror,  as  well  as  they 
could  through  the  torrents  of  rain.  They  had  seen  in  the 
distance  Lucifer  break  from  the  young  lady's  control,  and 
swerve  from  the  advancing  sea.  And  then  had  come  the 
great  gust  that  blew  the  rain  and  the  sand  in  their  faces 
and  set  their  horses  dancing  ;  and,  when  they  could  see 
again,  all  traces  of  horse  and  rider  had  disappeared,  and 
there  lay  nothing  before  them  but  the  advancing  tide, 
though  the  island  and  its  tower  were  still  just  visible 
through  the  storm. 

No  amount  of  cross-examination  could  elicit  any  fur- 
ther information.  The  girl's  impulse  seemed  to  have  been 
quite  sudden,  and  she  had  only  laughed  back  at  the  groom 
over  her  shoulder  upon  his  earnest  shout  of  warning, 
though  she  had  probably  expected  them  to  follow  her. 
And  as  there  could  be  no  doubt  about  the  calamity  which 
had  ensued,  and  no  possible  rescue  even  of  the  body,  he 
had  returned  home  at  once  to  bring  the  disastrous  news. 

Madeleiiie  had  been  carried  completely  unconscious  to 
her  bed,  but  presently  Miss  Sophia  was  summoned  to  her 
side  as  the  girl  showed  signs  of  returning  animation,  and 
Rupert  was  left  alone. 

He  fell  to  pacing  the  room,  lost  in  a  labyrinth  of  com- 
plicated and  far-reaching  reflections. 

Beyond  doubt  he  was  shocked  and  distressed  by  the 
sudden  and  horrible  disaster  ;  and  yet  as  an  undercurrent 
to  these  first  natural  thoughts,  there  ran  presently  a  dis- 
tinct notion  that  he  would  have  felt  the  grievousness  of 
it  more  keenly  had  Madeleine  perished  in  that  cruel  man- 
ner and  her  sister  survived  to  bring  the  tale  home. 


THE  TOWER  OF  LIVERPOOL  155 

The  antagonism  which  his  cousin,  in  all  the  insolence 
of  her  young  beauty  and  vigorous  self-esteem,  had  shown 
for  him  had  been  mutual.  He  had  instinctively  felt  that 
she  was  an  enemy,  and  more  than  that — a  danger  to  him. 
This  danger  was  now  removed  from  his  path,  and  by  no 
intervention  or  even  desire  of  his  own. 

The  calamity  which  had  struck  the  remaining  sister 
into  such  prostration  would  make  her  rich  indeed  ;  by 
anticipation  one  of  the  great  heiresses  in  England. 

"Sorrow,"  thought  Mr.  Landale,  and  his  lip  curled  dis- 
dainfully, "a  girl's  sorrow,  at  least,  is  a  passing  thing. 
Wealth  is  an  everlasting  benefit." 

Madeleine  was  a  desirable  woman  upon  all  counts,  even 
pecuniary  considerations  apart,  or  would  be  to  one  who 
had  a  heart  to  give — and  even  if  the  heart  was  dead.  .  .  .  ? 

Altogether  the  sum  of  his  meditations  was  assuming 
a  not  unpleasing  aspect ;  and  the  undercurrent  in  time 
assumed  almost  the  nature  of  self-congratulation.  Even 
the  ordeal  which  was  yet  to  come  when  he  would  have 
to  face  Miss  O'Donoghue  and  render  an  account  of  his 
short  trust,  could  not  weigh  the  balance  down  on  the 
wrong  side. 

And  yet  a  terrible  ordeal  it  would  be  ;  women  are  so 
unreasonable,  and  Aunt  Rose  so  much  more  so  even  than 
the  average  woman.  Still  it  had  to  be  done  ;  the  sooner 
the  better  ;  if  possible  while  the  storm  lasted  and  while 
roaring  waters  kept  all  ill  news  upon  land  and  the  inter- 
loping heir  on  his  island. 

And  thus  that  very  evening,  whilst  Madeleine  sobbed 
on  her  pillow  and  Molly  was  snugly  enjoying  the  warm 
hospitality  of  Scarthey,  a  mounted  messenger  departed 
from  the  Priory  to  overtake  Miss  O'Donoghue  on  the  road 
to  Bath  and  acquaint  her  with  the  terrible  fatality  that 
had  befallen  her  darling  and  favourite. 


CHAPTER  XV 
UNDER  THE  LIGHT 

December  i6th. — Again  I  separate  your  green  boards, 
my  diary.  No  one  has  opened  you  ;  for  your  key,  now 
a  little  rusty,  still  hangs  upon  my  watch — my  poor  watch 
whose  heart  has  ceased  to  beat,  who,  unlike  its  mistress, 
has  not  survived  the  ordeal  by  sand  and  water !  What 
is  better,  no  one  has  attempted  to  force  your  secrets  from 
you  ;  which,  since  it  appears  that  it  had  been  agreed  that 
Molly  de  Savenaye  was  dead  and  buried  in  Scarthey 
sands,  speaks  well  for  all  concerned.  But  she  is  not 
dead.      She  is  very  much  alive  ;  and  very  happy  to  be  so. 

This  will  indeed  be  an  adventure  worth  reading,  in  the 
days  to  come ;  and  it  must  be  recounted — though  were  I 
to  live  to  a  hundred  years  I  do  not  think  I  could  ever  forget 
it.  Tanty  Rose  (she  has  not  yet  stopped  scolding  every- 
body for  the  fright  she  has  had)  is  in  the  next  room  with 
Madeleine,  who,  poor  dear,  has  been  made  quite  ill  by 
this  prank  of  mine  ;  but  since  after  the  distress  caused 
by  her  Molly's  death  she  has  had  the  joy  of  finding  her 
]\Iolly  alive  again,  things  are  balanced,  I  take  it ;  and 
all  being  well  that  ends  well,  the  whole  affair  is  pleasant 
to  remember.  It  has  been  actually  as  interesting  as  I 
expected — now  that   I   think  it  over — even  more. 

Of  all  the  many  pictures  that  I  fancied,  not  one  was 
at  all  like  the  reality — and  this  reality  I  could  not  have 
rested  till  I  had  found.  It  was  Rent's  account  decided 
me.  I  laid  my  plans  very  neatly  to  pay  the  recluse  a 
little  visit,  and  plead  necessity  for  the  intrusion.  My 
machinations  would  have  been  perfect  if  they  had  not 
caused  Madeleine  and  poor  old  Tanty  unnecessary  grief. 

But  now  that  I  know  the  truth,  I  cannot  distinctly  re- 
member what  it  was  that  I  did  expect  to  find  on  that 
island. 

^56 


UNDER  THE  LIGHT  157 

If  it  had  not  been  that  I  had  already  gone  through 
more  excitement  than  I  bargained  for  to  reach  that  mys- 
terious rock,  how  exciting  I  should  have  found  it  to 
wander  up  to  unknown  ruins,  to  knock  at  the  closed  doors 
of  an  enchanted  castle,  ascend  unknown  stairs  and  engage 
in  devious  unknown  passages — all  the  while  on  the  tip-toe 
of  expectation  ! 

But  when  I  dragged  myself  giddy  and  faint  from  the 
boiling  breakers  and  scrambled  upon  the  desolate  island 
under  the  rain  that  beat  me  like  the  lashes  of  a  whip,  push- 
ing against  a  wind  that  bellowed  and  rushed  as  though  de- 
termined to  thrust  me  back  to  the  waters  I  had  cheated  of 
their  prey,  my  only  thoughts  were  for  succour  and  shelter. 

Such  warm  shelter,such  loving  welcome,  it  was  of  course 
impossible  that  I  could  for  a  moment  have  anticipated  ! 

Conceive,  my  dear  diary,  the  feelings  of  a  poor,  semi- 
drowned  wanderer,  shivering  with  cold,  with  feet  torn  by 
cruel  stones,  who  suddenly  emerges  from  howl  and  tur- 
moil into  a  warm,  quiet  room  to  be  received  as  a  long  and 
eagerly  expected  guest,  whose  advent  brings  happiness, 
whose  presence  is  a  highly  prized  favour ;  in  fact  not  as 
one  who  has  to  explain  her  intrusion,  but  as  one  who  in 
the  situation  holds  the  upper  hand  herself 

And  this  was  my  welcome  from  him  whose  absence 
from  Pulwick  was  more  haunting  than  any  presence  I  can 
think  of! 

Of  course  I  knew  him  at  once.  Even  had  I  not  expected 
to  see  him — had  I  not  come  to  seek  him  in  fact — I  should 
have  known  him  at  once  from  the  portrait  whose  melan- 
choly, wide-open  eyes  had  followed  me  about  the  gallery. 
But  I  had  not  dreamed  to  see  him  so  little  altered.  Now, 
apart  from  the  dress,  if  he  is  in  any  way  changed  from 
the  picture,  it  is  in  a  look  of  greater  youth  and  less 
sombreness.  The  portrait  is  handsome,  but  the  original 
is  better. 

Had  it  not  been  so,  I  imagine  I  might  have  felt  vastly 
different  when  I  was  seized  and  enfolded  and — kissed  ! 
As  it  was  I  cannot  remember  that,  even  at  the  moment 
of  this  extraordinary  proceeding,  I  was  otherwise  than 
pleased,  nor  that  the  dark  hints  of  Mr.  Landale  concerning 
Sir  Adrian's  madness  returned  to  disturb  my  mind  in  the 
least. 

And  yet  I  found  myself  enveloped  in  great  strong  arms 


158  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

out  of  which  I  could  not  have  extricated  myself  by  the 
most  frantic  efforts — although  the  folding  was  soft  and 
tender — and  I  loved  that  impression.  Why?  I  cannot 
say. 

His  words  of  love  were  not  addressed  to  me  ;  from  his 
exclamation  I  knew  that  the  real  and  present  Molly  was 
not  the  true  object  of  his  sudden  ecstasy. 

And  yet  I  am  glad  that  this  is  the  first  man  who  has 
been  able  to  kiss  Molly  de  Savenaye.  It  is  quite  incom- 
prehensible ;  I  ought  to  be  indignant. 

Now  the  whole  secret  of  my  reception  is  plain  to  see, 
and  it  is  pathetic  ;  Sir  Adrian  I.andale  was  in  love  with 
my  mother ;  when  she  was  an  unprotected  widow  he 
followed  her  to  our  own  country  ;  if  she  had  not  died 
soon  after,  he  would  have  married  her. 

What  a  true  knight  must  this  Sir  Adrian  be,  to  keep  so 
fresh  for  twenty  years  the  remembrance  of  his  boyish 
love  that  when  I  came  in  upon  him  to  look  at  him  with 
her  eyes,  it  was  to  find  him  pondering  upon  her,  and  to 
fill  his  soul  with  the  rapturous  thought  that  his  love  had 
come  back  to  him.  Though  I  was  aware  that  all  this 
fervour  was  not  addressed  to  me,  there  was  something 
very  gratifying  in  being  so  like  one  who  could  inspire 
such  long-lived  passion. — Yes,  it  was  unexpectedly 
pleasant  and  comforting  to  be  so  received.  And  the 
tender  care,  the  thoughtful  solicitude  next  bestowed  on 
the  limp  and  dishevelled  waif  of  the  sea  by  my  beatc 
ienebreux  7vere  unmistakably  meant  for  Molly  and  no  one 
else,  whatever  his  first  imaginings  may  have  been,  and 
they  were  quite  as  interesting  to  receive. 

The  half-hour  I  spent,  cosily  ensconced  by  his  hands, 
and  waited  upon  by  his  queer  household,  was  perhaps  the 
best  I  have  ever  known.  He  stood  by  the  fireplace, 
looking  down  from  his  great  height,  with  a  wondering 
smile  upon  me.  I  declare  that  the  loving  kindness  of  his 
eyes,  which  he  has  wide,  grey,  and  beautiful,  warmed 
me  as  much  as  the  pyramid  of  logs  he  had  set  burning  on 
the  hearth  1 

I  took  a  good  reckoning  of  the  man,  from  under  the 
gigantic  collar,  in  which,  I  felt,  my  head  rested  like  a 
little  egg  at  the  bottom  of  a  warm  nest.  "And  so,"  I 
thought,  "here  is  the  Light-keeper  of  Scarthey  Island  !  " 
And  I  was  obliged  to  confess  that  he  was  a  more  romantic- 


UNDER  THE  LIGHT  159 

looking  person  than  even  in  my  wildest  dreams  I  had 
pictured  to  myself — that  in  fact  I  had  found  out  for  the 
first  time  the  man  really  approved  of. 

And  I  congratulated  myself  on  my  own  cleverness — 
for  it  was  evident  that,  just  as  I  had  suspected  from  Rene's 
reticent  manner,  even  by  him  our  existence  at  Pulwick 
had  not  been  mentioned  to   "  the  master." 

And  as  Mr.  Landale  was  quite  determined  to  avail 
himself  of  his  brother's  sauvagerie  not  to  let  him  know 
anything  about  us,  on  his  side,  but  for  me  we  might  have 
remained  at  and  departed  from  Pulwick  unknown  to  the 
head  of  the  house  !  And  what  a  pity  that  would  have  been  ! 

Now,  why  did  not  Mr.  Landale  wish  his  brother  to 
know  ?  Did  he  think  (as  indeed  has  happened)  that  the 
Light-keeper  would  take  too  kindly  to  the  Savenaye 
children  ?  Or  to  one  of  them  .?  If  so,  he  will  be  bten 
attrappe,  for  there  is  no  doubt  that  my  sudden  and  dramatic 
arrival  upon  his  especial  domain  has  made  an  impression 
on  him  that  no  meeting  prepared  and  discussed  before- 
hand could  have  produced. 

Adrian  Landale  may  have  been  in  love  with  our  beautiful 
mamma  in  his  boyish  days,  but  now,  Sir  Adrian,  the  mav- 
is in  love  with  the  beautiful  Molly  ! 

That  is  positive. 

I  was  a  long  time  before  I  could  go  to  sleep  in  tte 
tower  ;  it  was  too  perfect  to  be  in  bed  in  such  a  place, 
safe  and  happy  in  the  midst  of  the  rage  I  could  hear 
outside  ;  to  have  seen  the  unknown,  to  have  found  him 
such  as  he  is — to  be  under  the  Light! 

What  would  have  happened  if  my  cousin  had  really 
been  mad  (and  Rend  his  keeper,  as  that  stupid  country- 
side wit  suggested  in  my  ear  the  other  night  at  dinner)  ? 
It  would  have  been  still  more  of  an  adventure  of  course, 
but  not  one  which  even  "  Murthering  Moll  the  Second" 
can  regret.  Or  if  he  had  been  a  dirty,  untidy  hermit,  as 
Madeleine  thought.''     That  would  have  spoilt  all. 

Thus  in  the  owl's  nest,  as  Mr.  Landale  (spiteful  crea- 
ture !)  called  it  to  Tanty,  there  lives  not  owl  any  more 
than  lunatic.  A  polished  gentleman,  with  white,  exqui- 
site hands,  who,  when  he  is  discovered  by  the  most 
unexpected  of  visitors,  is  shaven  as  smooth  as  Rupert 
himself;  has  the  most  unexceptionable  of  snowy  linen 
and  old-fashioned,  it  is  true,  but  most  well-fitting  clothes. 


i6o  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

As  for  the  entertainment  for  the  said  casual  visitor,  not 
even  Pulwick  with  all  its  resources  (where  housekeeping, 
between  the  fussy  brother  and  the  docile  sister  is  a 
complicated  science)  could  have  produced  more  real 
comfort. 

In  the  morning,  when  I  woke  late  (it  was  broad  day- 
light), feeling  as  if  I  had  been  beaten  and  passed  through 
a  mangle,  for  there  was  not  an  inch  of  my  poor  body 
that  was  not  sore,  I  had  not  turned  round  and  so  given 
sign  of  life,  before  I  heard  a  whisper  outside  my  door  ; 
then  comes  a  sturdy  knock  and  in  walks  old  Margery, 
still  dignified  as  a  queen's  housekeeper,  bearing  a  bowl 
of  warm  frothy  milk. 

And  this  being  gratefully  drunk  by  me,  she  gravely 
inquires,  in  her  queer  provincial  accent,  how  I  am  this 
morn  ;  and  then  goes  to  report  to  some  anxious  inquirer 
(whom  ? — I  can  easily  guess)  that  with  the  exception  of 
my  cut  foot  I  am  very  well. 

Presently  she  returns  and  lights  a  blazing  fire.  Then  in 
come  my  dress  and  linen  and  my  one  shoe,  all  cleaned, 
dried  and  mended,  only  my  poor  habit  is  so  torn  and  so 
stiff  that  I  have  to  put  up  with  Margery's  best  striped 
skirt  in  lieu  of  it,  till  she  has  time  to  mend  and  wash  it. 
As  it  is  she  must  have  been  at  work  all  night  upon  these 
repairs  for  me. 

Again  she  goes  out — for  another  consultation,  I  sup- 
pose— and  comes  back  to  find  me  half  clad,  hopping 
about  the  room  ;  this  time  she  has  got  nice  white  linen 
bandages  and  with  them  ties  up  my  little  foot,  partly  for 
the  cuts,  partly  for  want  of  a  sandal,  till  it  is  twice  the 
size  of  its  companion.      But  I  can  walk  on  it. 

Then  my  strange  handmaid — who  by  the  way  is  a  droll, 
grumbling  old  soul,  and  orders  me  about  as  if  she  were 
still  my  nurse — dresses  me  and  combs  my  hair,  which 
will  not  yet  awhile  be  rid  of  all  its  sand.  And  so,  in  due 
course,  Molly  emerges  from  her  bower,  as  well  tended 
almost  as  she  might  have  been  at  Bath,  except  that  Mar- 
gery's striped  skirt  is  a  deal  too  short  for  her  and  she  dis- 
plays a  little  more  of  one  very  nice  ankle  and  one  gouty 
foot  than  fashion  warrants. 

And  in  this  manner  the  guest  goes  to  meet  her  host  in 
the  great  room. 

He  was  walking  up  and  down  as  if  impatiently  expect- 


UNDER  THE  LIGHT  i6i 

ing  me,  and  when  I  hobbled  in,  he  came  forward  with  a 
smile  on  his  face  which,  once  more,  I  thought  beautiful. 

"God  be  praised!"  he  said,  taking  both  my  hands 
and  kissing  one  of  them,  with  his  fine  air  of  gallantry 
which  was  all  the  more  delightful  on  account  of  his  evi- 
dent earnestness,  "you  seem  none  the  worse  for  this 
terrible  adventure.  I  dreaded  this  morning  to  hear  that 
you  were  in  a  fever.  You  know,"  he  added  so  seriously 
that  I  had  to  smile,  "you  might  easily  have  had  a  fever 
from  this  yesterday's  work  ;  and  what  should  we  have 
done  without  doctor  and  medicines  !  " 

"You  have  a  good  surgeon,  at  least,"  said  I  laughing 
and  pointing  at  my  swaddled  extremity.  He  laughed  too 
at  the  enmitouflage.  "  I  tried  to  explain  how  it  was  to  be 
done,"  he  said,  "but  I  thmk  I  could  have  managed  it 
more  neatly  myself." 

Then  he  helped  me  to  the  armchair,  and  Rene' came  in, 
and,  after  a  profound  bow  (which  did  not  preclude  much 
staring  and  smiling  at  me  afterwards),  laid,  on  a  dazzling 
tablecloth,  a  most  tempting  breakfast,  explaining  the 
while,  in  his  odd  English,  "The  bread  is  stale,  for  we 
bake  only  twice  a  month.  But  there  are  some  cakes  hot 
from  the  fire,  some  eggs,  new  laid  last  evening,  some 
fresh  milk,  some  tea.  It  was  a  happy  thing  I  arrived 
yesterday  for  there  was  no  more  tea.  The  butter  wants, 
but  Mistress  Margery  will  have  some  made  to-morrow, 
so  that  the  demoiselle  will  not  leave  without  having 
tasted  our  Scarthey  butter." 

All  the  while  Sir  Adrian  looked  on  with  a  sort  of  dreamy 
smile — a  happy  smile  ! 

"  Poor  Rene  !  "  he  said,  when  the  man  had  left  the 
room,  "  one  would  think  that  you  have  brought  to  him 
almost  as  much  joy  as  to  me." 

I  wondered  what  Mr.  Landale  would  have  said  had  he 
through  some  magic  glass  been  able  to  see  this  little 
feast.  I  never  enjoyed  a  meal  more.  As  for  my  host, 
he  hardly  touched  anything,  but,  I  could  see,  was  all 
absorbed  in  the  delight  of  looking  at  me  ;  and  this  he 
showed  quite  openly  in  the  most  child-like  manner. 

Not  one  of  the  many  fine  gentlemen  it   has  been  my 

fate    to  meet  in  my  six  months'  apprenticeship   to   the 

"great  world,"   not   cousin   Rupert   himself  with   all  his 

elaborate  politeness  <'and  Rupert  has  de  grandes  manieres^ 

I 


i62  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

as  Tanty  says),  could  have  played  the  host  with  a  more 
exquisite  courtesy,  and  more  true  hospitality.  So  I 
thought,  at  least.  Now  and  again,  it  is  true,  while  his 
eyes  were  fixed  on  me,  I  would  see  how  the  soul  behind 
them  was  away,  far  in  the  past,  and  then  at  a  word,  even 
at  a  movement,  back  it  would  come  to  me,  with  the  ten- 
derest  softening  I  have  ever  seen  upon  a  human  face. 

It  was  only  at  the  end  of  breakfast  that  he  suddenly 
adverted  to  the  previous  day. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  hesitatingly,  but  keeping  a  frank 
gaze  on  mine,  "you  must  have  thought  me  demented 
when — when  you  first  entered,  yesterday." 

Now,  I  had  anticipated  this  apology  as  inevitable,  and 
I  was  prepared  to  put  him  at  his  ease. 

"I_?  Not  at  all,"  I  said  quite  gravely;  and,  seeing 
the  puzzled  expression  that  came  upon  his  face,  I  hastened 
to  add  in  lower  tones  :  "I  know  I  am  very  like  my  mother, 
and  it  was  her  name  you  called  out  upon  seeing  me." 
And  then  I  stopped,  as  if  that  had  explained  everything. 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  wondering  air,  and  fell  again 
into  a  muse.  After  a  while  he  said,  with  his  great  sim- 
plicity which  seems  somehow  in  him  the  last  touch  of  the 
most  perfect  breeding:  "Yes,  such  an  apparition  was 
enough  to  unhinge  any  one's  mind  for  the  morrjent.  You 
never  knew  her,  child,  and  therefore  never  mourned  her 
death.  But  we — that  is,  Rene  and  I,  who  tried  so  hard 
to  save  her — though  it  is  so  long  ago,  we  have  not  for- 
gotten." 

It  was  then  I  asked  him  to  tell  me  about  the  mother  I 
had  never  known.  At  first  it  was  as  if  he  could  not ;  he 
fell  into  a  great  silence,  through  which  I  could  feel  the 
working  of  his  old  sorrow.  So  then  I  said  to  him  quickly, 
for  I  feared  he  thought  me  an  indiscreet  trespasser  upon 
sacred  ground,  that  he  must  remember  my  right  to  know 
more  than  the  vague  accounts  I  had  been  given  of  my 
mother's  history, 

"No  one  will  tell  me  of  her,"  I  said.  "  It  is  hard,  for 
I  am  her  own  daughter. " 

"It  is  wrong,"  he  said  very  gently  ;  "you  ought  to 
know,  for  you  are  indeed,  most  verily,  her  own  daughter." 

And  then  by  fragments  he  tried  to  tell  me  a  little  of  her 
beauty,  her  loving  heart,  her  faithfulness  and  bravery. 


UNDER  THE  LIGHT  163 

At  first  it  was  with  great  tripping  sighs  as  if  the  words 
hurt  him,  but  by  and  by  it  came  easier,  and  with  his  eyes 
fixed  wistfully  on  me  he  took  me,  as  it  were,  by  his  side 
through  all  their  marvellous  adventures. 

And  thus  I  heard  the  stirring  story  of  the  "Savenaye 
band,"  and  I  felt  prouder  of  my  race  than  I  had  ever  been 
before.  Hitherto,  being  a  Savenaye  only  meant  the  pride 
our  aunt  tried  to  instil  into  us  of  being  undeniably  bten- 
nees  and  connected  with  numbers  of  great  families.  But 
the  tale  of  the  deeds  mine  had  done  for  the  King's  cause, 
and  especially  the  achievements  of  my  own  mother  in 
starting  such  an  expedition  after  my  father's  death,  and 
following  its  fortunes  to  the  bitter  end,  made  my  blood 
tingle  with  a  new  emotion. 

Little  wonder  that  Sir  Adrian  should  have  devoted  his 
life  to  her  service.  How  madly  enthralled  I  should  have 
been,  being  a  man,  and  free  and  strong,  by  the  presence 
of  a  woman  such  as  my  mother,  I,  too,  would  have  pros- 
trated myself  to  worship  her  image  returning  to  life — 
and  I  am  that  living,  living  portrait ! 

When  he  came  to  the  story  of  her  death,  he  hesitated 
and  finally  stopped.  It  must  have  been  horrible.  I  could 
see  it  in  his  eyes,  and  I  dared  not  press  him. 

Now,  I  suppose  I  am  the  only  one  in  the  world,  be- 
sides Ren^,  who  knows  this  man  as  he  is.  And  I  am 
proud  of  it. 

And  it  is  for  this  constancy,  which  no  vulgar  soul  of 
them  can  understand,  that  Rupert  and  his  class  have 
dubbed  the  gallant  gentleman  a  madman.  It  fills  me 
with  scorn  of  them.  I  do  not  yet  know  what  love  is, 
therefore  of  course  I  cannot  fathom  its  grief;  but  this 
much  I  know — that  if  I  loved  and  yet  could  not  reach  as 
high  as  ever  love  may  reach  both  in  joy  and  sorrow,  I 
should  despise  myself.  I,  too,  would  draw  the  utmost 
from  life  that  life  can  give. 

He  never  even  hinted  at  his  love  for  my  mother  ; 
speaking  of  himself  throughout  as  Rene  might,  as  of  her 
humble  devoted  servant  merely.  And  then  the  question 
began  to  gnaw  at  me.  "  Did  she  love  him  ?  "  and  some- 
how, I  felt  as  if  I  could  not  rest  till  I  knew  ;  and  I  had  it 
on  my  lips  twenty  times  to  cry  out  to  him:  "I  know 
you  loved  her:  oh!  tell  me,  did  she  love  you?"  And 
yet  I  dared  no  more  have  done  so,  and  overstepped  the 


i64  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

barrier  of  his  gentle,  reticent  dignity,  than  I  could  have 
thrust  the  lighthouse  tower  down  ;  and  I  could  not  think, 
either,  whether  I  should  be  glad  to  hear  that  she  had 
loved  him,  or  that  she  had  not.  Not  even  here,  alone 
with  myself,  can  I  answer  that  question. 

But  though  I  respect  him  because  he  is  as  I  have  found 
him,  and  understand  how  rare  a  personality  it  takes  to 
achieve  such  refinement  of  faithfulness,  it  seems  to  me, 
that  to  teach  this  constant  lover  to  forget  the  past  in  the 
present,  would  be  something  worth  living  for — something 
worthy  of  Jne  ! 

Molly! — What  is  the  meaning  of  this?  You  have 
never  before  put  that  thought  in  words,  even  to  yourself! 
But  let  me  be  frank,  or  else  what  is  the  use  of  this  diary? 

Looking  back  to  those  delightful  three  days,  did  not 
the  ihought  come  to  me,  if  not  the  words?  Well,  well,  it 
is  better,  sometimes,  I  believe,  to  let  oneself  drift,  than 
to  try  and  guide  the  boat ;  and  I  must  hurry  back  to 
Scarthey  or  I  shall  never  have  told  my  story.   .   .   . 

How  swiftly  time  had  flown  by  us  !  I  sitting  in  the 
armchair,  with  the  old  dog's  muzzle  on  my  lap,  and  Sir 
Adrian  standing  by  his  great  chimney  ;  the  clock  struck 
twelve,  in  the  midst  of  the  long  silence,  and  1  had  thought 
that  barely  an  hour  had  passed. 

I  got  up,  and,  seeing  me  limp  in  my  attempt  to  walk, 
Sir  Adrian  gave  me  his  arm  ;  and  so  we  went  round  the 
great  room  bras  dessus,  bras  dessous,  and  it  already 
seemed  quite  natural  to  feel  like  an  intimate  friend  in 
that  queer  dwelling. 

We  paused  a  long  time  in  silence  by  the  window,  the 
tempest  wind  was  still  raging,  but  the  sky  was  clear,  and 
all  round  us  was  a  wonderful  sight  ;  the  sea,  as  far  as 
eyes  could  reach,  white  with  foam,  lashed  and  tossing  in 
frenzy  round  the  rock  on  which  we  stood  so  safely,  and 
rising  in  long  jets  of  spray,  which  now  and  then  dashed  as 
far  as  our  window  ;  and  when  I  looked  down  nearer,  I 
could  see  the  little  stunted  trees,  bending  backwards  and 
forwards  under  the  blast,  and  an  odd  idea  came  to  my 
mind  : — they  looked  to  me  when  they  caught  my  sight, 
as  though  they  were  bowing  deep,  hurriedly  and  frantic- 
ally greeting  me  among  them. 

I  glanced  up  at  my  silent  companion,  the  true  knight, 
and   found  his  wide  grey  eyes  fixed  upon  me  with  the 


UNDER  THE  LIGHT  .  165 

same  expression  that  was  already  familiar  to  me,  which  I 
had  especially  noted  as  he  told  me  his  long  tale  of  olden 
times. 

This  time  I  felt  the  look  go  to  my  heart.  A7id  thenihe 
thought  first  came  to  my  mind,  all  unformed,  hut  still  sweet. 

I  don't  know  exactly  why,  but  in  answer  to  his  sad 
look,  I  smiled  at  him,  without  a  word,  upon  which  he 
suddenly  grew  pale.  After  a  while  he  gave  a  sigh,  and, 
as  he  drew  my  arm  again  through  his,  I  fancy  his  hand 
trembled  a  little. 

When  he  had  taken  me  back  to  my  chair,  he  walked  to 
and  fro  in  silence,  looking  at  me  ever  and  anon. 

A  long  time  we  passed  thus,  without  speaking  ;  but  it 
seemed  as  if  our  thoughts  were  intermixing  in  harmony 
in  the  midst  of  our  silence.  And  then  the  spell  was 
broken  by  Rene,  who  never  came  in  without  making  me 
his  great  scrape,  trying  hard  not  to  beam  too  obtrusively 
in  the  delight  that  evidently  overtakes  him  whenever  he 
sets  eyes  on  me. 

It  was  after  a  prolonged  talk  between  him  and  the 
master,  I  fancy,  concernuig  the  means  of  attending  fitly 
upon  my  noble  and  delicate  person,  that  Sir  Adrian, 
brought  back,  evidently,  to  the  consideration  of  present 
affairs,  began  to  be  exercised  about  the  best  means  of 
whiling  away  my  time.  When  he  hinted  at  the  difficulty, 
I  very  soon  disposed  of  it. 

I  told  him  I  had  never  been  so  happy  in  my  life  before 
— that  the  hours  went  all  too  quickly — I  told  him  there 
was  so  much  he  and  Rene  had  yet  to  tell  me  of  their 
wonderful  adventures,  that  I  thought  I  should  have  to 
carry  them  back  to  Pulwick  with  me.  At  the  mention  of 
Pulwick  his  brow  darkened,  and  Rene  turned  away  to 
cough  into  his  hand,  and  I  saw  that  I  had  gone  too  fast. 
(N. B. — Pulwick  is  evidently  a  sore  subject  ;  I  am  sure  I 
am  not  surprised.  I  can  conceive  how  Rupert  and  Sophia 
would  drive  a  man  of  Sir  Adrian's  sensitiveness  nearly  to 
desperation.  Yet  I  have  brought  Sir  Adrian  back  to  Pul- 
wick, in  spite  of  all.     Is  not  that  a  feather  in  my  cap  .'') 

But  to  return  ;  I  next  made  Rene  laugh  aloud  and  Sir 
Arian  give  his  indulgent  smile — such  as  a  father  might  give 
to  his  child — by  adding  that  when  I  was  bored  I  would 
soon  let  them  know.  "I  always  do,"  I  said,  "  for  I  con- 
sider that  a  duty  to  myself." 


i66  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

"  God  knows, "  said  this  strange  man  then,  half  smil- 
ing, "  I  would  we  could  keep  you  here  for  ever." 

It  was  almost  a  declaration,  but  his  eyes  were  far  off — 
it  was  not  addressed  to  me. 

1  soon  found  that  the  recollection  of  all  the  extraordi- 
nary incidents  Sir  Adrian  had  lived  through,  is  one  neither 
of  pride  nor  pleasure  to  him,  but,  all  the  same,  never  has 
anything  in  books  seemed  to  me  so  stirring,  as  the  tale 
of  relentless  fate,  of  ever-recurring  battles  and  struggles 
and  misfortunes  told  by  the  man  who,  still  in  the 
strength  of  life,  has  now  chosen  to  forego  everything 
that  might  for  the  remainder  of  his  days  have  compen- 
sated him. 

Willing  as  he  was  to  humour  me,  however,  and  dispro- 
portionately anxious  to  amuse  me,  it  was  little  more 
than  the  dry  bones  of  his  history,  I  was  able  to  obtain 
from  him. 

With  Rent's  help,  however,  and  my  own  lively  imagi- 
nation I  have  been  able  to  piece  together  a  very  wonder- 
ful skeleton,  from  these  same  dry  bones,  and,  moreover, 
endow  it  with  flesh  and  blood  and  life. 

Rene  was  very  willing  to  descant  upon  his  master's 
exploits,  as  far  as  he  knew  them  :  "  Whew,  Mademoiselle 
should  have  seen  him  fight!"  he  would  say,  "a  lion, 
Mademoiselle,  a  real  lion  !  " 

And  then  I  would  contrast  the  reposeful,  somewhat 
immobile  countenance,  the  dreaming  eye,  the  almost 
womanly  softness  of  his  smile,  with  the  picture,  and  find 
the  contrast  piquant  in  the  extreme. 

Concerning  his  i)resent  home  Sir  Adrian  was  more 
willing  to  speak — I  had  told  him  how  the  light  on  the 
little  island  had  fascinated  me  from  the  distance,  and  all 
the  surmises  I  had  made  about  it. 

"  And  so,  it  was  in  order  to  see  what  sort  of  dungeon 
they  kept  the  madman  in,"  he  said,  laughing  quietly, 
"that  you  pushed  the  reconnaissance,  which  nearly  sent 
you  into  the  jaws  of  death  !  " 

I  was  so  struck,  at  first,  by  his  speaking  of  himself  as 
the  reputed  "madman"  that  I  could  not  answer.  To 
think  of  him  as  serenely  contemptuous  of  the  world's 
imputation — and  an  imputation  so  galling  as  this  one  of 
being  irresponsible  for  his  actions — and  deliberately  con- 
tinuing his  even  way  without  taking  the  trouble  to  refute 


UNDER  THE  LIGHT  167 

it,  has  given  me  an  insight  into  his  nature,  that  fills  me 
with  admiration,  and  yet,  at  the  same  time,  with  a  sort 
of  longing  to  see  him  reinstated  in  his  proper  place,  and 
casting  out  those  slandering  interlopers. 

But,  as  he  was  waiting  to  be  answered,  I  had  to  collect 
my  thoughts  and  admit,  not  without  a  little  bashfulness, 
that  my  first  account  of  my  exploit  had  contained  a  slight 
prevarication. 

In  all  he  has  to  say  about  his  little  Scarthey  domain, 
about  the  existence  he  has  made  for  himself  there,  I  can- 
not help  noticing  with  what  affection  he  speaks  of  Rend 
Ren^,  according  to  Sir  Adrian,  is  everything  and  every- 
where ;  a  perfect  familiar  genius  ;  he  is  counsellor  as  well 
as  valet,  plays  his  master's  game  of  chess  as  well  as 
shaves  him,  can  tune  his  organ,  and  manage  his  boat, 
and  cast  his  nets,  for  he  is  fisherman  as  well  as  gardener  ; 
he  is  the  steward  of  this  wonderful  little  estate,  and  its 
stock  of  one  pony,  one  cow,  and  twelve  hens  ;  he  tends 
the  light,  and  can  cook  a  dinner  a  great  deal  better  than 
his  great  rival,  old  Margery. 

Of  this  last  accomplishment  we  had  good  proof  in  the 
shape  of  various  dainties  that  appeared  at  our  dinner. 
For  when  I  exclaimed  in  astonishment,  the  master  said, 
well  pleased,  and  pointing  to  the  attentive  major-domo  : 
"  This  is  Rene's  way  of  spoiling  me.  But  now  he  has 
surpassed  himself  to  celebrate  so  unique  an  occasion. 

And  Rene's  face  was  all  one  grin  of  rapture.  I  observe 
that  on  occasions  his  eyes  wander  quite  tenderly  from 
me  to  his  master. 

Shall  I  ever  enjoy  dinners  again  like  those  in  that  old 
ruined  tower  !  Or  hours  like  those  during  which  I  lis- 
tened to  tales  of  peril  and  adventure,  or  to  the  music  that 
pealed  forth  from  the  distant  corner,  when  Sir  Adrian  sat 
down  to  his  organ  and  made  it  speak  the  wordless  lan- 
guage of  the  soul :  that  language  that  made  me  at  times 
shiver  with  a  mad  yearning  for  life,  more  life;  at  times 
soothed  my  heart  with  a  caress  of  infinite  softness. 

How  is  it  that  our  organ-songs  at  the  convent  never 
moved  me  in  this  fashion  ? 

Ah  !  those  will  be  days  to  remember  ;  all  the  more  for 
being  certain  that  they  will  not  be  forgotten  by  him. 
Yes,  those  days  have  brought  some  light  into  his  melan- 
choly life. 


i68  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

Even  Ren^  knows  that.  "Oh,  my  lady,"  said  he  to 
me  as  he  was  leaving  the  island  yesterday.  "You  have 
come  like  the  good  fairy,  you  have  brought  back  the  joy 
of  life  to  his  honour  :  1  have  not  heard  him  really  laugh 
— before  this  year  passed  I  did  not  believe  he  knew  any 
more  how  to  laugh — what  you  can  call  laugh  !  " 

It  is  quite  true.  I  had  made  some  droll  remark  about 
Tanty  and  Cousin  Sophia,  and  when  he  laughed  he 
looked  like  a  young  man. 

He  was  quick  enough  in  grasping  at  a  pretext  for  keep- 
ing me  yet  another  day.  Yesterday  the  wind  having  sud- 
denly abated  in  the  night,  there  was  quite  a  bevy  of  little 
fishing-boats  sailing  merrily  away.  And  the  causeway 
at  low  water  was  quite  visible.  As  we  looked  out  I  know 
the  same  idea  came  to  both  our  minds,  thoug-h  there  was 
no  word  between  us.  At  last  it  was  I  who  spoke.  "  The 
crossing  is  quite  safe,"  said  I.  And  I  added,  as  he 
answered  nothing,  "I  almost  wish  now  it  was  not. 
How  quick  the  time  has  gone  by,  here  !  " 

His  countenance  when  I  looked  up  was  darker.  He 
kept  his  eyes  fixed  in  the  distance.  At  last  he  said  in  a 
low  voice  : 

"Yes,  I  suppose  it  is  high  time  you  should  go  back." 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  wish  it,"  I  said  quite  frankly — he 
is  not  the  sort  of  man  with  whom  one  would  ever  think 
oi  ininauderie,  "but  Madeleine  will  be  miserable  about 
me." 

"And  so  you  would  really  care  to  stop  here,"  said  he, 
witli  a  smile  of  wonder  on  his  face,  "  if  it  were  not  for 
that  reason  }  " 

"  Naturally  I  would,"  said  I.  "I  feel  already  as  cosy 
as  a  tame  cat  here.  And  if  it  were  not  for  Madeleine, 
poor  little  Madeleine,  who  must  be  breaking  her  heart  ! — 
But  then  how  can  I  go  back  ? — I  have  no  wraps  and  only 
one  shoe  ?  " 

His  face  had  cleared  again.  He  was  walking  up  and 
down  in  his  usual  way,  whilst  I  hopped  back,  with  more 
limping  than  was  at  all  necessary,  to  my  favourite  arm- 
chair. 

"True,  true,"  he  said,  as  if  speaking  to  himself,  "you 
cannot  walk,  with  one  shoe  and  a  bandaged  foot.  And 
your  clothes  are  too  thin  for  the  roundabout  sea  journey 
in  this  cold  wind.     This  is  what  we  shall  do,  child,"  he 


UNDER  THE  LIGHT  169 

went  on,  coming  up  to  me  with  a  sage  expression  that 
struggled  with  his  evident  eager  desire.  "  Rene  shall  go 
off,  as  soon  as  the  tide  permits,  carrying  the  good  news 
of  your  safety  to  your  sister,  and  bring  back  some  warm 
things  for  you  to  wear  to-morrow  morning,  and  I  shall 
write  to  Rupert  to  send  a  carriage,  to  wait  for  you  on 
the  strand." 

And  so,  pleased  like  two  children  who  have  found  a 
means  of  securing  a  further  holiday,  we  wrote  both  our 
letters.  I  wonder  whether  it  occurred  to  Sir  Adrian,  as  it 
did  to  me,  that,  if  we  had  been  so  very  anxious  that  I 
should  be  restored  to  the  care  of  Pulwick  with  the  briefest 
delay,  I  might  have  gone  with  Rene  that  same  day, 
wrapped  up  in  a  certain  cloak  which  had  done  good  warm- 
ing service  already  ;  and  that,  as  Rene  had  constructed 
with  his  cunning  hands  a  sufficient  if  not  very  pretty 
sandal  for  my  damaged  foot  out  of  some  old  piece  of  felt, 
I  might  have  walked  from  the  beach  to  the  fishing  vil- 
lage ;  and  that  there,  no  doubt,  a  cart  or  a  donkey  might 
have  conveyed  me  home  in  triumph. 

Perhaps  it  did  «o/ occur  to  him  ;  and  certainly  I  had  no 
desire  to  suggest  it  on  my  side. 

Thus,  soon  after  mid-day.  Master  Rene  departed  alone. 
And  Sir  Adrian  and  I,  both  very  glad  of  our  reprieve, 
watched,  leaning  side  by  side  upon  the  window-sill,  the 
brave  little  craft  glide  away  on  the  still  ruffled  waters, 
until,  when  it  had  grown  very  small  in  the  distance,  we 
saw  the  sail  lowered  and  knew  Rene  had  reached  main- 
land. 

And  that  was  perhaps  the  best  day  of  the  three.  Rend 
having  been  unexpectedly  despatched,  we  had  to  help  to 
do  everything  ourselves  with  old  Margery,  who  is  rather 
feeble.  The  sky  was  clear  and  beautiful  ;  and,  followed 
gravely  by  Jem  the  dog,  we  went  round  the  little  outer 
domain.  I  fed  the  hens,  and  Sir  Adrian  carried  the  pail 
when  Margery  had  milked  the  cow  ;  we  paid  a  visit  in  his 
wide  paddock  to  the  pony,  who  trotted  up  to  his  master 
whinnying  with  pleasure.  We  looked  at  the  waters  rush- 
ing past  like  a  mill  race  on  the  further  side  of  the  island, 
as  the  tide  was  rising,  and  he  explained  to  me  that  it  was 
this  rush  which  makes  the  neighbourhood  of  Scarthey  so 
dangerous  to  unwary  crafts  ;  we  went  down  into  the  sea- 
caves  which  penetrate  deep  under  the  ruins, — They  say 


170  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

that  in  olden  days  there  was  a  passage  under  the  rocky- 
causeway  that  led  as  far  as  the  old  Priory,  but  all  traces 
of  it  have  been  effaced. 

Then,  later  on,  Sir  Adrian  showed  me  in  detail  his 
library. 

"I  was  made  to  be  a  man  of  books,"  he  said,  when  I 
•wondered  at  the  number  he  had  accumulated  around  him 
— there  must  be  thousands,  "a  man  of  study,  not  of 
action.  And  you  know  how  fate  has  treated  me.  These 
have  been  my  one  consolation  of  late  years." 

And  it  marvelled  me  to  think  that  one  who  had  achieved 
so  many  manly  deeds,  should  love  musty  old  tiresome 
things  so  much.  He  really  turned  them  over  quite  rev- 
erentially. I  myself  do  not  think  much  of  books  as  com- 
panions. 

When  I  made  that  little  confession  he  smiled  rather 
sadly,  and  said  that  one  like  me  never  would  lack  the 
suitable  companions  of  youth  and  happiness  ;  but  that  a 
creature  of  his  unfortunate  disposition  could  find,  in  these 
long  rows  of  folded  leaves,  the  society  of  the  best  and 
the  loftiest  minds,  not  of  our  age,  but  of  all  ages,  and, 
what  was  more,  could  find  them  ready  for  intercourse 
and  at  their  best  humour,  just  in  those  hours  when  he 
himself  was  fit  and  disposed  for  such  intercourse — and 
this  without  dread  of  inflicting  his  own  misery  and  dul- 
ness  upon  them. 

But  1  could  not  agree  with  his  appreciation.  I  felt  my 
nose  curl  with  disdain  at  the  breath  of  dust  and  must  and 
age  these  old  tomes  gave  forth,  and  I  said  again  it  was, 
to  my  mind,  but  a  poor  and  tame  sort  of  fellowship. 

He  was  perched  on  his  ladder  and  had  some  odd  vol- 
ume in  his  hand,  from  which  he  was  about  to  give  an 
example  in  point ;  on  hearing,  however,  this  uncongenial 
sentiment  he  pushed  back  the  book  and  came  down 
quickly  enough  to  talk  to  me.  And  this  was  the  last  of 
our  excursions  among  the  bookshelves. 

Of  this  I  was  glad,  for  I  confess  it  was  there  I  liked 
Sir  Adrian  the  least. 

When  the  end  of  the  short  day  drew  near  it  was  time 
to  go  and  attend  to  the  beacon.  We  ascended  the  ladder- 
like wooden  stairs  leading  to  the  platform.  Then  I  had 
the  reverse  of  that  view  that  for  so  many  days  had  en- 
grossed my  interest. 


UNDER  THE  LIGHT  171 

Pulwick  from  Scarthey !  .  .  .  .  What  a  long  time  it 
seemed  then  since  I  had  left  those  rooms  the  windows  of 
which  now  sent  us  back  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  !  and 
I  had  no  desire  to  return,  though  return  I  must  on  the 
morrow. 

Rend,  of  course,  had  left  everything  in  his  usual  trim 
order,  so  all  we  had  to  do  was  to  see  to  the  lamp.  It 
pleased  my  fantasy  to  light  the  beacon  of  Scarthey  my- 
self, and  I  struck  the  steel  and  kindled  the  brimstone  and 
set  fire  to  the  huge,  ill-smelling  wicks  until  they  gave  a 
flame  as  big  as  my  hand;  and  "there  is  the  light  of 
Scarthey  at  close  quarters,"  I  thought.  And  the  Light- 
keeper  was  bending  over  me  with  his  kindly  look, 
humouring  me  like  a  child. 

As  we  sat  there  silently  for  a  while  in  the  twilight,  there 
came  from  the  little  room  adjoining  the  turret  an  odd 
sound  of  flapping  and  uncanny,  melancholy  cries.  Sir 
Adrian  rose,  and  we  remembered  the  seagull  by  which 
he  had  played  the  part  of  good  Samaritan. 

It  had  happened  on  the  second  day,  as  the  storm  was 
at  its  height.  There  had  come  a  great  crash  at  the  win- 
dow, and  we  saw  something  white  that  struggled  on  the 
sill  outside  ;  Sir  Adrian  opened  the  casement  (when  we 
had  a  little  tornado  of  our  own  inside,  and  all  his  papers 
began  dancing  a  sarabande  in  the  room),  and  we  gathered 
in  the  poor  creature  that  was  hurt  and  battered  and  more 
than  half  stunned,  opening  alternately  its  yellow  bill  and 
its  red  eyes  in  the  most  absurd  manner. 

With  a  solicitude  that  it  amused  me  to  watch.  Sir  Adrian 
had  tended  the  helpless,  goose-like  thing  and  then  handed 
it  to  Rene's  further  care. 

Rene,  it  seemed,  had  thought  of  trying  to  tame  the  wild 
bird,  and  had  constructed  a  huge  sort  of  cage  with  laths 
and  barrel-hoops,  and  installed  it  there  with  various  nasty, 
sea-fishy,  weedy  things,  such  as  seagulls  consider  dainty. 
But  the  prisoner,  now  its  vigour  had  returned,  yearned  for 
nothing  but  the  free  air,  and  ever  and  anon  almost  broke 
its  wings  in  sudden  frenzy  to  escape. 

"I  wonder  at  Rend, "  said  Sir  Adrian,  contemplating  the 
animal  with  his  grave  look  of  commiseration;  "Rend, 
who,  like  myself,  has  been  a  prisoner  !  He  will  be  disap- 
pointed, but  we  shall  make  one  of  God's  creatures  happy 
this  day.     There  is  not  overmuch  happiness  in  this  world." 


172  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

And,  regardless  of  the  vicious  pecks  aimed  at  his  hands, 
he  with  firmness  folded  the  great  strong  wings  and  legs 
and  carried  the  gull  outside  on  the  parapet. 

There  the  bird  sat  a  moment,  astonished,  turning  its  head 
round  at  its  benefactor  before  taking  wing  ;  and  then  it  rose 
flying  away  in  great  swoops — flap,  flap — across  the  waves 
till  we  could  see  it  no  longer.  Ugly  and  awkward  as  the 
creature  looked  in  its  cage,  it  was  beautiful  in  its  joyful, 
steady  flight,  and  I  was  glad  to  see  it  go.  I  must  have 
been  a  bird  myself  in  another  existence,  for  I  have  often 
that  longing  to  fly  upon  me,  and  it  makes  my  heart  swell 
with  a  great  impatience  that  I  cannot. 

But  I  could  not  help  remarking  to  Sir  Adrian  that  the 
bird's  last  look  round  had  been  full  of  anger  rather  than 
gratitude,  and  his  answer,  as  he  watched  it  sweep  heavily 
away,  was  too  gloomy  to  please  me  : 

"  Gratitude,"  said  he,  "is  as  rare  as  unselfishness.  If 
it  were  not  so  this  world  would  be  different  indeed.  As  it 
is,  we  have  no  more  right  to  expect  the  one  than  the  other. 
And,  when  all  is  said  and  done,  if  doing  a  so-called  kind 
action  gives  us  pleasure,  it  is  only  a  special  form  of  self- 
indulgence. " 

There  is  something  wrong  about  a  reasoning  of  this 
kind,  but  I  could  not  exactly  point  out  where. 

We  both  stood  gazing  out  from  our  platform  upon  the 
darkening  waters.  Then  across  our  vision  there  crept, 
round  the  promontory,  a  beautiful  ship  with  all  sails  set, 
looking  like  some  gigantic  white  bird  ;  sailing,  sailing,  so 
swiftly  yet  so  surely  by,  through  the  dim  light ;  and  I  cried 
out  in  admiration  :  for  there  is  something  in  the  sight  of 
a  ship  silently  gliding  that  always  sets  my  heart  beating. 
But  Sir  Adrian's  face  grew  stem,  and  he  said  :  "A  ship  is 
a  whitened  sepulchre." 

But  for  all  that  he  looked  at  it  long  and  pensively. 

Now  it  had  struck  me  before  this  "that  Sir  Adrian,  with 
all  his  kindness  of  heart,  takes  but  a  dismal  view  of  human 
nature  and  human  destiny  ;  that  to  him  what  spoils  the 
face  of  this  world  is  that  strife  of  life — which  to  me  is  as 
the  breath  of  my  nostrils,  the  absence  of  which  made  my 
convent  days  so  grey  and  hateful  to  look  back  upon, 

I  did  not  like  to  feel  out  of  harmony  with  him,  and  so 
almost  angrily  I  reproached  him. 

"  Would  you  have  every  one  live  like  a  limpet  on  a 


UNDER  THE  LIGHT  173 

rock?"  cried  I.  "Great  heavens!  I  would  rather  be 
dead  than  not  be  up  and  doing." 

He  looked  at  me  gravely,  pityingly. 

"  May  _>'<9«  never  see  what  I  have  seen,"  said  he.  "May 
you  never  learn  what  men  have  made  of  the  world.  God 
keep  your  fair  life  from  such  ways  as  mine  has  been  made 
to  follow."' 

The  words  filled  me,  I  don't  know  why,  with  sudden 
misgiving.  Is  this  life,  I  am  so  eager  for,  but  horror  and 
misery  after  all?  Would  it  be  better  to  leave  the  book 
unopened?  They  said  so  at  the  convent.  But  what  can 
they  know  of  life  at  a  convent  ? 

He  bent  his  kind  face  towards  mine  in  the  thickening 
gloom,  as  though  to  read  my  thoughts,  and  his  lips 
moved,  but  he  did  not  speak  aloud.  Then,  above  the 
song  of  the  waves  as  they  gathered,  rolled  in,  and  fell 
upon  the  shingle  all  around,  there  came  the  beat  of  oars. 

"Hark,"  said  Sir  Adrian,  "  our  good  Rene  !  " 

His  tone  was  cheerful  again,  and,  as  he  hurried  me 
away  down  the  stairs,  I  knew  he  was  glad  to  divert  me 
from  the  melancholy  into  which  he  had  allowed  himself 
to  drift. 

And  then  "good  Rend"  came,  bringing  breezy  life  and 
cheerfulness  with  him,  and  a  bundle  and  a  letter  for  me. 

Poor  Madeleine  !  It  seems  she  has  been  quite  ill  with 
weeping  for  Molly  ;  and,  indeed,  her  dear  scrawl  was  so 
illegible  that  I  could  hardly  read  it.  Rene  says  she  was 
nearly  as  much  upset  by  the  joy  as  by  the  grief.  Mr. 
Landale  was  not  at  home  ;  he  had  ridden  to  meet  Tanty 
at  Liverpool,  for  the  dear  old  lady  has  been  summoned 
back  in  hot  haste  with  the  news  of  my  decease  ! 

He  for  one,  I  thought  to  myself,  will  survive  the  shock 
of  relief  at  learning  that  Molly  has  risen  from  the  dead  ! 

Ting,  ting,  ting  ....  There  goes  my  little  clock, 
fussily  counting  the  hour  to  tell  me  that  I  have  written  so 
long  a  time  that  I  ought  to  be  tired.  And  so  I  am,  though 
I  have  not  told  you  half  of  all  I  meant  to  tell  I 


CHAPTER  XVI 
THE  RECLUSE  AND  THE  SQUIRE 

I  THOUGHT  I  should  nevcr  get  away  from  supper  and  be 
alone  !  Rupert' s  air  of  cool  triumph — it  was  triumph, 
however  he  may  have  wished  to  hide  it — and  Tanty's  flow 
of  indignation,  recrimination,  speculation,  and  amaze- 
ment were  enough  to  drive  me  mad.  But  I  held  out.  I 
pretended  I  did  not  mind.  My  cheeks  were  blazing,  and 
I  talked  d  tort  ei  a  travers.  I  should  have  died  rather  than 
that  Rupert  should  have  guessed  at  the  tempest  in  my 
heart.  Now  I  am  alone  at  last,  thank  God  !  and  it  will 
be  a  relief  to  confide  to  my  faithful  diary  the  feelings  that 
have  been  choking  me  these  last  two  hours. 

"  Pride  must  have  a  fall."  Thus  Rupert  at  supper,  with 
reference,  it  is  true,  to  some  trivial  incident,  but  looking 
at  me  hard  and  full,  and  pointing  the  words  with  his 
meaningsmile.  The  fairies  who  attended  at  my  birth  en- 
dowed me  with  one  power,  which,  however  doubtful  a 
blessing  it  may  prove  in  the  long  run,  has  nevertheless 
been  an  unspeakable  comfort  to  me  hitherto.  This  is  the 
reverse  of  what  I  heard  a  French  gentleman  term  I '  esprit 
de  I'escalier.  Thanks  to  this  fairy  godmother  of  mine,  the 
instant  some  one  annoys  or  angers  me  there  rises  on  the 
tip  of  my  tongue  the  most  galling  rejoinder  that  can  pos- 
sibly be  made  in  the  circumstances.  And  I  need  not  add  : 
/  make  it. 

To-night,  when  Rupfert  flung  his  scoff  at  me,  I  was 
ready  for  him. 

"I  trust  the  old  adage  has  not  been  brought  home  to 
you,  Sir  Rupert,"  said  I,  and  then  pretending  confusion. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  added,  "  I  have  been  so  accus- 
tomed to  address  the  head  of  the  house  these  last  days 
that  the  word  escaped  me  unawares,"  The  shot  told  zf;e//, 
and  I  was  glad — glad  of  the  murderous  rage  in  Rupert's 
eyes,  for  I  knew  I  had  hit  him  on  the  raw.     Even  Tanty 

174 


THE  RECLUSE  AND  THE  SQUIRE     175 

looked  perturbed,  but  Rupert  let  me  alone  for  the  rest  of 
supper. 

He  is  right  nevertheless,  that  is  what  stung  me.  I  am 
humbled,  and  I  cannot  hear  it ! 

Sir  Adrian  has  left. 

I  was  so  triumphant  to  bring  him  back  to  Pulwick  this 
morning,  to  have  circumvented  Rupert's  plans,  and  (let 
me  speak  the  truth,)  so  happy  to  have  him  with  me  that 
I  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  my  exultation.  And  now  he 
has  gone,  gone  without  a  word  to  me  ;  only  this  miser- 
able letter  of  determined  farewell.  I  will  copy  it — for  in 
my  first  anger  I  have  so  crumpled  the  paper  that  it  is 
scarcely  readable. 

"  My  child,  I  must  go  back  to  my  island.  The  world 
is  not  for  me,  nor  am  I  for  the  world,  nor  would  I  cast 
the  shadow  of  my  gloomy  life  further  upon  your  bright 
one.  Let  me  tell  you,  however,  that  you  have  left  me 
the  better  for  your  coming  ;  that  it  will  be  a  good  thought 
to  me  in  my  loneliness  to  know  of  your  mother's  daughters 
so  close  to  me.  When  you  look  across  at  the  beacon  of 
Scarthey,  child,  through  the  darkness,  think  that  though 
I  may  not  see  you  again  I  shall  ever  follow  and  keep 
guard  upon  your  life  and  upon  your  sister's,  and  that,  even 
when  you  are  far  from  Pulwick,  the  light  will  burn  and 
the  heart  of  Adrian  Landale  watch  so  long  as  it  may  beat." 

I  have  shed  more  tears — hot  tears  of  anger — since  I 
received  this  than  I  have  wept  in  all  my  life  before. 
Madeleine  came  in  to  me  just  now,  too  full  of  the  happi- 
ness of  having  me  back,  poor  darling,  to  be  able  to  bear 
me  out  of  sight  again  ;  but  I  have  driven  her  from  me 
with  such  cross  words  that  she  too  is  in  tears.  I  must  be 
alone  and  I  must  collect  myself  and  my  thoughts,  for  I 
want  to  state  exactly  all  that  has  happened  and  then  per- 
haps I  shall  be  able  to  see  my  way  more  clearly. 

This  morning  then,  early  after  breakfast,  I  started 
across  the  waters  between  Rene  and  Sir  Adrian,  regret- 
ting to  leave  the  dear  hospitable  island,  yet  with  my 
heart  dancing  within  me,  as  gaily  as  did  our  little  boat 
upon  the  chopping  waves,  to  be  carrying  the  hermit  back 
Mnth  me.  I  had  been  deadly  afraid  lest  he  should  at  the 
last  moment  have  sent  me  alone  with  the  servant ;  but 
when  he  put  on  his  big  cloak,  when  I  saw  Rene  place  a 


1/6  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

bag  at  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  I  knew  he  meant  to  come 
— perhaps  remain  some  days  at  Pulwick,  and  my  spirits 
went  up,  up  ! 

It  was  a  lovely  day,  too  ;  the  air  had  a  crisp,  cold 
sparkle,  and  the  waters  looked  so  blue  under  the  clear, 
frosty  sky.  I  could  have  sung  as  we  rowed  along,  and 
every  time  I  met  Sir  Adrian's  eye  I  smiled  at  him  out  of 
the  happiness  of  my  heart.  His  look  hung  on  me — we 
French  have  a  word  for  that  which  is  not  translatable,  // 
7ne  couvait  des yeiix — and,  as  every  day  of  the  three  we 
had  spent  together  I  had  thought  him  younger  and  hand- 
somer, so  this  morning  out  in  the  bright  sunlight  I  said  to 
myself,  I  could  never  wish  to  see  a  more  noble  man. 

When  we  landed — and  it  was  but  a  little  way,  for  the 
tide  was  low — there  was  the  carriage  waiting,  and  Rend, 
all  grins,  handed  over  our  parcels  to  the  footman.  Then 
we  got  in,  the  wheels  began  slowly  dragging  across  the 
sand  to  the  road,  the  poor  horses  pulling  and  straining, 
for  it  was  heavy  work.  And  Rene  stood  watching  us  by 
his  boat,  his  hand  over  his  eyes,  a  black  figure  against 
the  dazzling  sunshine  on  the  bay  ;  but  I  could  see  his 
white  teeth  gleam  in  that  broad  smile  of  his  from  out  of 
his  shadowy  face.  As,  at  length,  we  reached  the  high 
road  and  bowled  swiftly  along,  I  would  not  let  Sir  Adrian 
have  peace  to  think,  for  something  at  my  heart  told  me 
he  hated  the  going  back  to  Pulwick,  and  I  so  chattered 
and  fixed  his  attention  that  as  the  carriage  drew  up  he 
was  actually  laughing. 

When  we  stopped  another  carriage  in  front  moved  off, 
and  there  on  the  porch  stood — Rupert  and  Tanty  ! 

Poor  Tanty,  her  old  face  all  disfigured  with  tears  and 
a  great  black  bonnet  and  veil  towering  on  her  head.  I 
popped  my  head  out  of  the  window  and  called  to  them. 

When  they  caught  sight  of  me,  both  seemed  to  grow 
rigid  with  amazement.  And  then  across  Rupert's  face 
came  such  a  look  of  fury,  and  such  a  deathly  pallor  !  I 
had  thought,  certainly,  he  would  not  weep  the  eyes  out 
of  his  head  for  me  ;  but  that  he  should  be  stricken  with 
anger  to  see  me  alive  I  had  hardly  expected,  and  for  the 
instant  it  frightened  me. 

But  then  I  had  no  time  to  observe  anything  else,  for 
Tanty  collapsed  upon  the  steps  and  went  off  into  as  fine 
a  iit  of  hysterics  as  I  have  ever  seen.     But  fortunately  it 


THE  RECLUSE  AND  THE  SQUIRE     177 

did  not  last  long.  Suddenly  in  the  middle  of  her  screams 
and  rocking-s  to  and  fro  she  perceived  Sir  Adrian  as  he  leant 
anxiously  over  her.  With  the  utmost  energy  she  clutched 
his  arm  and  scrambled  to  her  feet. 

"Is  it  you,  me  poor  child  ?  "  she  cried,  "Is  it  you  ?  " 

And  then  she  turned  from  him,  as  he  stood  with  his 
gentle,  earnest  face  looking  down  upon  her,  and  gave 
Rupert  a  glare  that  might  have  slain  him.  I  knew  at 
once  what  she  was  thinking  :  I  had  experienced  myself  that 
it  was  impossible  to  see  Sir  Adrian  and  connect  his 
dignified  presence  for  one  second  with  the  scandalous 
impression  Rupert  would  have  conveyed. 

As  for  Rupert,  he  looked  for  the  first  time  since  I  knew 
him  thoroughly  unnerved. 

Then  Tanty  caught  me  by  the  arm  and  shook  me  : 

"  How  dare  you,  miss,  how  dare  you  ?  "  she  cried,  her 
face  was  flaming. 

**  How  dare  I  what  ? "  asked  I,  as  I  hugged  her. 

"  How  dare  you  be  walking  about  when  it  is  dead  you 
are,  and  give  us  all  such  a  fright — there — there,  you  know 
what  I  mean. — Adrian,"  she  whimpered,  "give  me  your 
arm,  my  nephew,  and  conduct  me  into  your  house.  All 
this  has  upset  me  very  much.  But,  oh,  am  I  not  glad  to 
see  you  both,  my  children  !  " 

In  they  went  together.  And  my  courage  having  risen 
again  to  its  usual  height,  I  waited  purposely  on  the  porch 
to  tease  Rupert  a  little.  I  had  a  real  pleasure  in  noticing 
how  he  trembled  with  agitation  beneath  his  mask. 

"  Well,  are  you  glad  to  see  me.  Cousin  Rupert  ?  "  said  I. 

He  took  my  hand  ;  his  fingers  were  damp  and  cold. 

"Can  you  ask,  my  fair  cousin?"  he  sneered.  "Do 
you  not  see  me  overcome  with  joy  ?  Am  I  not  indeed 
especially  favoured  by  Providence,  for  is  not  this  the 
second  time  that  a  beloved  being  has  been  restored  into 
my  arms  like  Lazarus  from  the  grave  }  " 

I  was  indignant  at  the  heartlessness  of  his  cynicism, 
and  so  the  answer  that  leaped  to  my  lips  was  out  before 
I  had  time  to  reflect  upon  its  unladylikeness. 

"Ay,"  said  I,  "and  each  time  you  have  cried  in  your 
soul,  like  Martha,   '  Behold,  he  stinketh.'" 

My  cousin  laughed  aloud. 

"You  have  a  sharp  tongue,"  he  said,  "take  care  you 
are  not  cut  with  it  yourself  some  day." 

12 


178  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

Just  then  the  footmen  who  had  been  unpacking  Tanty's 
trunks  from  the  first  carriage  laid  a  great  wooden  box 
upon  the  porch,  and  one  of  them  asked  Rupert  which 
room  they  should  bring  it  to. 

Rupert  looked  at  it  strangely,  and  then  at  me. 

"  Take  it  where  you  will,"  he  exclaimed  at  last.  **  There 
lies  good  money-value  wasted — though,  after  all,  one 
never  knows." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  I,  struck  by  a  sinister  meaning  in 
his  accents. 

"Mourning,  beautiful  Molly — mourning  for  you — crape 
— gowns — weepers — wherewith  to  have  dried  your  sister's 
tears — but  not  needed  yet,  you  see."' 

He  bared  his  teeth  at  me  over  his  shoulder — I  could  not 
call  it  a  smile — and  then  paused,  as  he  was  about  to  brush 
past  into  the  hall,  to  give  me  the  pas,  with  a  mocking  bow. 

He  does  not  even  attempt  now  to  hide  his  dislike  of 
me,  nor  to  draw  for  me  that  cloak  of  suave  composure 
over  the  fierce  temper  that  is  always  gnawing  at  his  vitals 
as  surely  as  fox  ever  gnawed  little  Spartan.  He  sees 
that  it  is  useless,  I  suppose.  As  I  went  upstairs  to  greet 
Madeleine,  I  laughed  to  myself  to  think  how  Fate  had 
circumvented  the  plotter. 

Alas,  how  foolish  I  was  to  laugh  !  Rupert  is  a  danger- 
ous enemy,  and  I  have  made  him  mine  ;  and  in  a  few 
hours  he  has  shuffled  the  cards,  and  now  he  holds  the 
trumps  again.  For  that  there  is  dii  Rupert  in  this  sudden 
departure  of  my  knight,  I  am  convinced.  Of  course,  his 
reasons  are  plain  to  see.  It  is  the  vulgarest  ambition 
that  prompts  him  to  oust  his  brother  for  as  long  as  pos- 
sible— for  ever,  if  he  can. 

And  now,  /am  outwitted.     Je  rage. 

I  have  never  been  so  unhappy.  My  heart  feels  all 
crushed.  I  see  no  help  anywhere.  I  cannot  in  common 
decency  go  and  seek  Sir  Adrian  upon  his  island  again, 
and  so  I  sit  and  cry. 


Immediately  upon  his  arrival  Tanty  was  closeted  with 
Sir  Adrian  in  the  chamber  allotted  to  her  for  so  long  a 
space  of  time  that  Rupert,  watching  below  in  an  inward 
fever,  now  flung  back  in  his  chair  biting  his  nails,  now 
restlessly    pacing  the  room  from   end  to   end,   his  mind 


THE  RECLUSE  AND  THE  SQUIRE     179 

working  on  the  new  problem,  his  ears  strained  to  catch 
the  least  sound  the  while,  was  fain  at  last  to  ring  and  give 
orders  for  the  immediate  sounding  of  the  dinner  bell  (a 
good  hour  before  that  meal  might  be  expected)  as  the  only- 
chance  of  interrupting  a  conference  which  boded  so  ill  to 
his  plans.  Meanwhile  Madeleine  sobbed  out  the  story  of 
her  grief  and  joy  on  Molly's  heart  ;  and  Miss  Sophia,  who 
thus  inconsiderately  arrested  in  the  full  congenial  flow  of 
a  new  grief,  was  thrown  back  upon  her  old  sorrows  for 
consolation,  had  felt  impelled  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  rec- 
tor's grave  with  the  watering-can,  and  an  extra  pocket- 
handkerchief. 

Never  perhaps  since  that  worthy  clergyman  had  gasped 
out  his  last  struggling  breath  upon  her  bosom  had  she 
known  more  unmixed  satisfaction  than  during  those  days 
when  she  hovered  round  poor  prostrate  Madeleine's  bed 
and  poured  into  her  deaf  ear  the  tale  of  her  own  woes  and 
the  assurances  of  her  thoroughly  understanding  sympathy. 
She  had  been  looking  forward,  with  a  chastened  eager- 
ness, to  the  arrival  of  the  mourning,  and  had  already  de- 
rived a  good  deal  of  pleasure  from  the  donning  of  certain 
aged  weeds  treasured  in  her  wardrobe  ;  it  was  therefore 
a  distinct  though  quite  unconscious  disappointment  when 
the  news  came  which  put  an  untimely  end  to  all  these 
funereal  revels. 

At  the  shrill  clamour  of  the  bell,  as  Rupert  anticipated, 
Adrian  emerged  instantly  from  his  aunt's  room,  and  a 
simultaneous  jingle  of  minor  bells  announced  that  the 
ladies'  attention  was  in  all  haste  being  turned  to  toilet 
matters. 

Whatever  had  passed  between  his  good  old  relative  and 
his  sensitive  brother,  Rupert's  quick  appraising  glance  at 
the  latter's  face,  as  he  went  slowly  down  the  corridor  to 
his  own  specially  reserved  apartment,  was  sufficient  to 
confirm  the  watcher  in  his  misgiving  that  matters  were 
not  progressing  as  he  might  wish. 

Sir  Adrian  seemed  absorbed,  it  is  true,  in  grave  thought, 
but  his  countenance  \\^as  neither  distressed  nor  gloomy. 
With  a  spasm  of  fierce  annoyance,  and  a  bitter  curse  on 
the  meddling  of  old  females  and  young,  Rupert  had  to 
admit  that  never  had  he  seen  his  brother  look  more  hand- 
some, more  master  of  the  house  and  of  himself,  more 
sane. 


i8o  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

A  few  minutes  later  the  guests  of  Pulvvick  assembled 
in  the  library  one  by  one,  with  the  exception  of  Sophia, 
still  watering  the  last  resting-place  of  the  Rev.  Herbert 
Lee. 

Adrian  came  first,  closely  followed  by  Tanty,  who 
turned  a  marked  shoulder  upon  her  younger  nephew  and 
devoted  all  her  attention  to  the  elder — in  which  strained 
condition  of  affairs  the  conversation  between  the  three 
was  not  likely  to  be  lively.  Next  the  sisters,  attired  alike 
in  white,  entered  together,  bringing  a  bright  vision  of 
youth  and  loveliness  into  the  old  room. 

At  sight  of  them  Adrian  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  sudden 
sharp  ejaculation,  upon  which  the  two  girls  halted  on  the 
threshold,  half  shy,  half  smiling.  For  the  moment,  in  the 
shadow  of  the  doorway,  they  were  surprisingly  like  each 
other,  the  difference  of  colouring  being  lost  in  their  curi- 
ous similarity  of  contour. 

My  God,  were  there  then  two  Cdciles .-' 

Beautiful,  miraculous,  consoling  had  been  to  the 
mourner  in  his  loneliness  the  apparition  of  his  dead  love 
restored  to  life,  every  time  his  eyes  had  fallen  upon  ]\Iolly 
during  these  last  few  blessed  days  ;  but  this  new  develop- 
ment was  only  like  a  troublous  mocking  dream. 

Tanty  turned  in  startled  amazement.  She  could  feel 
the  shudder  that  shook  his  frame,  through  the  hand  with 
which  he  still  unconsciously  grasped  at  the  back  of  her 
chair.     An  irrepressible  smile  crept  to  Rupert's  lips. 

The  little  interlude  could  not  have  lasted  more  than  a 
few  seconds  when  Molly,  recovering  her  usual  self-posses- 
sion, came  boldly  forward,  leading  her  sister  by  the  tips 
of  her  fingers. 

"Cousin  Adrian,''  she  said,  "my  sister  Madeleine  has 
many  things  to  say  to  you  in  thanks  for  your  care  of  my 
valuable  person,  but  just  now  she  is  too  bashful  to  be 
able  to  utter  one  quarter  of  them."' 

As  the  girls  emerged  into  the  room,  and  the  light  from 
the  great  windows  struck  upon  Madeleine's  fair  curls  and 
the  delicate  pallor  of  her  cheek  ; 'as  she  extended  her 
hand,  and  raised  to  Adrian's  face,  while  she  dropped  her 
pretty  curtsey,  the  gaze  of  two  unconsciously  plaintive 
blue  eyes,  the  man  dashed  the  sweat  from  his  brow  with 
a  gesture  of  relief. 

Nothing  could  be  more  unlike  the  dark  beauty  of  the 


THE  RECLUSE  AND   THE  SQUIRE     i8i 

ghost  of  his  dreams  or  its  dashing  presentment  now  smil- 
ing confidently  upon  him  from  Tanty's  side. 

He  took  the  little  hand  with  tender  pressure  :  Cecile's 
daughter  must  be  precious  to  him  in  any  case.  Madeleine, 
moreover,  had  a  certain  appealing  grace  that  was  apt  to 
steal  the  favour  that  Molly  won  by  storm, 

"  But,  indeed,  I  could  never  tell  Sir  Adrian  how  grate- 
ful I  am,"  said  she,  with  a  timidity  that  became  her  as 
thoroughly  as  Molly's  fearlessness  suited  her  own  stronger 
personality. 

At  the  sound  of  her  voice,  again  the  distressful  night- 
mare-like feeling  seized  Sir  Adrian's  soul. 

Of  all  characteristics  that,  as  the  phrase  is,  "  go  in 
families,"  voices  are  generally  the  most  peculiarly  generic. 

When  Molly  first  addressed  Sir  Adrian,  it  had  been  to 
him  as  a  voice  from  the  grave  ;  now  Madeleine's  gentle 
speech  tripped  forth  upon  that  self-same  note — Cdcile's 
own  voice  !  " 

And  next  Molly  caught  up  the  sound,  and  then  Made- 
leine answered  again.  What  they  said,  he  could  not 
tell ;  these  ghosts — these  speaking  ghosts — brought  back 
the  old  memories  too  painfully.  It  was  thus  Cecile  had 
spoken  in  the  first  arrogance  of  her  dainty  youth  and 
loveliness  ;  and  in  those  softer  tones  when  sorrow  and 
work  and  failure  had  subdued  her  proud  spirit.  And  now 
she  laughs  ;  and  hark,  the  laugh  is  echoed  !  Sir  Adrian 
turns  as  if  to  seek  some  escape  from  this  strange  form  of 
torture,  meets  Rupert's  eye  and  instinctively  braces  him- 
self into  self-control. 

"Come,  come,"  cried  Miss  O'Donoghue,  in  her  com- 
fortable, commonplace,  cheerful  tone  :  "This  dinner  bell 
of  yours,  Adrian,  has  raised  false  hopes,  which  seem  to  tarry 
in  their  fulfilment.     What  are  we  waiting  for,  may  I  ask  ?  " 

Adrian  looked  at  his  brother. 

"  Rupert,  you  know,  my  dear  aunt,"  he  said,  "  has  the 
ordering  of  these  matters." 

"  Sophia  is  yet  absent,"  quoth  Rupert  drily,  "but  we 
can  proceed  without  her,  if  my  aunt  wishes." 

"  Pooh,  yes.  Sophia  !  "  snorted  Miss  O'Donoghue, 
grasping  Sir  Adrian's  arm  to  show  herself  quite  ready  for 
the  march,  "  Sophia  !  We  all  know  what  she  is.  Why, 
my  dear  Adrian,  she'll  never  hear  the  bell  till  it  has 
stopped  this  half  hour." 


i82  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

"  Dinner,"  cried  Rupert  sharply  to  the  butler,  whom  his 
pull  of  the  bell-rope  had  summoned.  And  dinner  being 
served,  the  guests  trooped  into  that  dining-room  which 
was  full  of  such  associations  to  Sir  Adrian.  It  was  a  little 
thing,  but,  nevertheless,  intensely  galling  to  Rupert  to  have 
to  play  second  gentleman,  and  give  up  his  privileges  as 
host  to  his  brother.  Usually  indeed  Adrian  cared  too  little 
to  stand  upon  his  rights,  and  insisted  upon  Rupert's  con- 
tinuing to  act  in  his  presence  as  he  did  in  his  absence  ;  but 
this  afternoon  Tanty  had  left  him  no  choice. 

Nevertheless,  as  Mr.  Landale  sat  down  between  the 
sisters,  and  turned  smiling  to  address  first  one  and  then  the 
other,  it  would  have  taken  a  very  practised  eye  to  discern 
under  the  extra  urbanity  of  his  demeanour  the  intensity 
of  his  inward  mortification.  He  talked  a  great  deal  and  ex- 
erted himself  to  make  the  sisters  talk  likewise,  bantering 
Molly  into  scornful  and  eager  retorts,  and  preventing 
Madeleine  from  relapsing  into  that  state  of  dreaminess 
out  of  which  the  rapid  succession  of  her  recent  sorrow  and 
joy  had  somewhat  shaken  her. 

The  girls  were  both  excited,  both  ready  to  laugh  and 
jest.  Tanty,  satisfied  to  see  Adrian  preside  at  the  head 
of  the  table  with  a  grave,  courteous,  and  self-contained 
manner  that  completely  fulfilled  her  notions  of  what 
family  dignity  required  of  him,  cracked  her  jokes,  ate  her 
dinner,  and  quaffed  her  cup  with  full  enjoyment,  laughing 
indulgently  at  her  grand-nieces'  sallies,  and  showing  as 
marked  a  disfavour  to  Rupert  as  she  deemed  consistent 
with  good  manners. 

The  poor  old  lady  little  guessed  how  the  workings  in 
each  brother's  mind  were  all  the  while,  silently  but  inevit- 
ably, tending  towards  the  destruction  of  her  newly  awak- 
ened hopes. 

There  was  silence  between  Sir  Adrian  and  Rupert  when 
at  last  they  were  left  alone  together.  The  elder's  gaze 
wandering  in  space,  his  absent  hand  softly  beating  the 
table,  his  relaxed  frame — all  showed  that  his  mind  was 
far  away  from  thought  of  the  younger's  presence.  The 
relief  to  be  delivered  from  the  twin  echoes  of  a  haunting 
voice — once  the  dearest  on  earth  to  him — was  immense. 
But  his  whole  being  was  still  quivering  under  the  first 
acuteness  of  so  disturbing  an  impression. 


THE  RECLUSE  AND  THE  SQUIRE     183 

His  years  of  solitude,  moreover,  had  ill  prepared  him 
for  social  intercourse  ;  the  laughter,  the  clash  of  conver- 
sation, the  noise  on  every  side,  the  length  of  the  meal,  the 
strain  to  maintain  a  fit  and  proper  attitude  as  host,  had 
tried  to  the  utmost  nerves  by  nature  hypersensitive. 

Rupert,  who  had  leisure  to  study  the  suddenly  lined  and 
tired  lineaments  of  the  abstracted  countenance  before  him, 
noted  with  self-congratulation  the  change  that  a  few  hours 
seemed  to  have  wrought  upon  it,  and  decided  that  the 
moment  had  come  to  strike. 

"So,  Adrian,"  he  said,  looking  down  demurely  as  he 
spoke  into  the  glass  of  wine  he  had  been  toying  with — 
Rupert  was  an  abstemious  man.  "So,  Adrian,  you  have 
been  playing  the  chivalrous  role  of  rescuer  of  distressed 
damsels — squire  of  dames  and  what  not.  The  last  one 
would  have  ascribed  to  you  at  least  at  this  end  of  your 
life.  Ha,"  throwing  up  his  head  with  a  mirthless  laugh  ; 
"  how  little  any  of  us  would  have  thought  what  a  blessing 
in  disguise  your  freak  of  self-exile  was  destined  to  become 
to  us !  " 

At  the  sound  of  the  incisive  voice  Adrian  had  returned 
with  a  slight  shiver  from  distant  musing  to  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  other's  presence. 

"And  did  you  not  always  look  upon  my  exile  as  a 
blessing  undisguised,  Rupert  ?"  answered  he,  fixing  his 
brother  with  his  large  grave  gaze. 

Rupert's  eyelids  wavered  a  little  beneath  it,  but  his 
tone  was  coolly  insolent  as  he  made  reply  : 

"If  it  pleases  you  to  make  no  count  of  our  fraternal 
affection  for  you,  my  dear  fellow  ;  if  by  insisting  upon 
our  unnatural  depravity  you  contrive  a  more  decent 
excuse  for  your  own  vagaries,  you  have  my  full  per- 
mission to  dub  me  Cain  at  once  and  have  done  with 
it." 

A  light  sigh  escaped  the  elder  man,  and  then  he  reso- 
lutely closed  his  lips.  It  was  by  behaviour  such  as  this, 
by  his  almost  diabolical  ingenuity  in  the  art  of  being 
imcongenial,  that  Rupert  had  so  largely  contributed  to 
make  his  own  house  impossible  to  him.  But  where  was 
the  use  of  either  argument  or  expostulation  with  one 
so  incapable  of  even  understanding  the  mainsprings  of 
his  actions  ?  Moreover  {Jie,  above  all,  must  not  forget 
it)  Rupert  had  suffered   through  him  in  pride    and   self- 


i84  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

esteem.  And  yet,  despite  Sir  Adrian's  philosophic  mind, 
despite  his  vast,  pessimistic  though  benevolent  tolerance 
for  erring  human  nature,  his  was  a  very  human  heart ; 
and  it  added  not  a  little  to  the  sadness  of  his  lot  at 
every  return  to  Puhvick  (dating  from  that  first  most 
bitter  home-coming)  to  feel  in  every  tibre  of  his  being 
how  little  welcome  he  was  where  the  ties  of  flesh  and 
blood  alone,  not  to  speak  of  his  most  ceaseless  yet  deli- 
cate generosity,  should  have  ensured  him  a  very  differ- 
ent reception. 

Again  he  sighed,  this  time  more  deeply,  and  the  cor- 
ners of  Rupert's  lips,  the  arch  of  his  eyebrows,  moved 
upwards  in  smihng  interrogation. 

"It  must  have  given  you  a  shock,"  said  Mr.  Landale, 
carelessly,  "to  see  the  resemblance  between  Molly  and 
poor  Cecile ;  not,  of  course,  that  /  can  remember  her ; 
but  Tanty  says  it  is  something  startling." 

Adrian  assented  briefly. 

"I  daresay  it  seems  quite  painful  to  you  at  first,"  pro- 
ceeded Rupert,  much  in  the  same  deliberate  manner  as  a 
surgeon  may  lay  bare  a  wound,  despite  the  knowledge  of 
the  suffering  he  is  inflicting,  "I  noticed  that  you  seemed 
upset  during  dinner.  But  probably  the  feeling  will  wear 
off.'' 

"Probably." 

"Madeleine  resembles  her  father,  I  am  told  ;  but  then 
you  never  saw  Wvo.  fen  Conite,  did  you  .''  Well,  they  are 
both  fine  handsome  girls,  full  of  life  and  spirits.  It  is 
our  revered  relative's  intention  to  leave  them  here — as 
perhaps  she  has  told  you — for  two  months  or  so." 

"I  have  begged  her,  "said  Sir  Adrian  gravely,  "  to  make 
them  understand  that  I  wish  them  to  look  upon  Puhvick 
as  their  home. " 

"Very  right,  very  proper,"  cried  the  other  ;  "  in  fact  I 
knew  that  was  what  you  would  wish — and  your  wishes, 
of  course,  are  my  law  in  the  matter.  By  the  way,  I 
hope  you  quite  understand,  Adrian,  how  it  happened  that 
I  did  not  notify  to  you  the  arrival  of  these  guests  extraor- 
dinary— knowing  that  you  have  never  got  over  their 
mother's  death,  and  all  that — it  was  entirely  from  a  wish 
to  spare  you.  Besides,  tliere  was  your  general  prohibi- 
tion about  my  visitors  ;  I  did  not  dare  to  take  the  respon- 
sibility in  fact.     And  so  I  told  Tanty." 


THE  RECLUSE  AND  THE  SQUIRE      185 

I  do  not  wish  to  doubt  the  purity  of  your  motives, 
though  it  would  have  grieved  me  had  these  visitors  (no 
ordinary  ones  as  you  yourself  admit)  come  and  gone 
without  my  knowledge.  As  it  fell  out,  however,  even 
without  that  child's  dangerous  expedition,  I  should  have 
been  informed  in  any  case — Rene  knew." 

"Rene  knew?"  cried  Rupert,  surprised;  and  "damn 
Rene  "  to  himself  with  heart-felt  energy. 

That  the  infernal  httle  spy,  as  he  deemed  his  brother's 
servant,  should  have  made  a  visit  to  Pulwick  without  his 
knowledge  was  unpleasant  news,  and  it  touched  him  on 
his  tenderest  point. 

But  now,  replenishing  his  half-emptied  glass  to  give 
Adrian  no  excuse  for  putting  an  end  to  the  conference 
before  he  himself  desired  it,  he  plunged  into  the  heart 
of  the  task  he  had  set  himself  without  further  delay  : 

"And  what  would  you  wish  me  to  do,  Adrian,"  he 
asked,  with  a  pretty  air  of  deference,  "in  the  matter  of 
entertaining  these  ladies.?  I  have  thought  of  several 
things  likely  to  afford  them  amusement,  but,  since  you 
are  here,  you  will  readily  understand  that  I  should  like 
your  authorisation  first.  I  am  anxious  to  consult  you 
when  I  can,"  he  added,  apologetically.  "So  forgive  my 
attacking  you  upon  business  to-night  when  you  seem 
really  so  little  fitted  for  it — but  you  know  one  cannot 
count  upon  you  from  one  minute  to  another !  What 
would  you  say  if  I  were  to  issue  invitations  for  a  ball .? 
Pulwick  was  noted  for  its  hospitality  in  the  days  of  our 
fathers,  and  the  gloom  that  has  hung  over  the  old  home 
these  last  eight  years  has  been  (I  suppose)  unavoidable 
in  the  circumstances — but  none  the  less  a  pity.  No  fear 
but  that  our  fair  cousins  would  enjoy  such  a  festivity,  and 
I  think  I  can  promise  you  that  the  sound  of  our  revels 
should  not  reach  as  far  as  your  hermitage." 

A  slow  colour  had  mounted  to  Adrian's  cheeks ;  he 
drew  his  brows  together  with  an  air  of  displeasure ; 
Rupert,  quick  to  read  these  symptoms,  hastened  to  pursue 
the  attack  before  response  should  be  made  : 

"The  idea  does  not  seem  to  please  you,"  he  cried,  as 
if  in  hurt  surprise.  "  'Tis  true  I  have  now  no  legal  right 
to  think  of  reviving  the  old  hospitable  traditions  of  the 
family  ;  but  you  must  remember,  Adrian,  you  yourself 
have  insisted  on  giving  me  a  moral  right  to  act  host  here 


i86  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

in  your  absence — you  have  over  and  over  again  laid 
stress  upon  the  freedom  you  wished  me  to  feel  in  the 
matter.  Hitherto  I  have  not  made  use  of  these  privileges  ; 
have  not  cared  to  do  so,  beyond  an  occasional  duty  dinner 
to  our  nearest  neighbours.  A  lonely  widower  like  my- 
self, why  should  I  ?  But  now,  with  these  gay  young 
things  in  the  house — so  near  to  us  in  blood — I  had 
thought  it  so  much  our  duty  to  provide  fitting  entertain- 
ment for  them  that  your  attitude  is  incomprehensible  to 
me.  Come  !  does  it  not  strike  you  as  savouring  a  little 
of  the  unamiable  dog  in  the  fable.?  I  know  you  hate 
company  yourself,  and  all  the  rest  of  it ;  but  how  can 
these  things  here  affect  you  upon  your  island.''  As  for 
the  budget,  it  will  stand  it,  I  assure  you.  I  speak  hotly  ; 
pray  excuse  me.  I  own  I  have  looked  forward  to  the 
thought  of  seeing  once  more  young  and  happy  faces 
around  me." 

"  You  mistake  me,"  said  Sir  Adrian  with  an  effort  ; 
"  while  you  are  acting  as  my  representative  you  have,  as 
you  know,  all  liberty  to  entertain  what  guests  you 
choose,  and  as  you  see  fit.  It  is  natural,  perhaps,  that 
you  should  now  believe  me  anxious  to  hurry  back  to  the 
lighthouse,  and  I  should  have  told  you  before  that  it  is 
my  intention  this  time  to  remain  longer  than  my  wont,  in 
wliich  circumstance  the  arrangements  for  the  entertain- 
ing of  our  relatives  will  devolve  upon  myself." 

Rupert  broke  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"Forgive  me,  but  the  idea  is  too  ludicrous!  What 
sort  of  funeral  festivities  do  you  propose  to  provide  to 
the  neighbourhood,  with  you  and  Sophia  presiding,  the 
living  images  of  mourning  and  desolation?  There,  my 
dear  fellow,  I  tnust  laugh.  It  will  be  the  skeleton  at  the 
feast  with  a  vengeance.  Why,  even  to-night,  in  the 
bosom  of  your  family,  as  it  were,  your  presence  lay  so 
like  a  wet  blanket  upon  us  all  that,  'pon  my  soul,  I  nearly 
cracked  my  voice  trying  to  keep  those  girls  from  notic- 
ing it !  Seriously,  I  am  delighted,  of  course,  that  you 
should  feel  so  sportive,  and  it  is  high  time  indeed  that 
the  neighbourhood  should  see  something  of  you,  but  I 
fear  you  are  reckoning  beyond  your  strength.  Any- 
how, command  me.  I  shall  be  anxious  to  help  you  all  I 
can  in  this  novel  departure.      What  are  your  plans?" 

"I  have  laid  no  plans,"  answered  Sir  Adrian  coldly. 


THE  RECLUSE  AND  THE  SQUIRE     187 

after  a  slight  pause,  "but  you  do  not  need  me  to  tell  you, 
Rupert,  that  to  surround  myself  with  such  gaiety  as  you 
suggest  is  impossible." 

"You  mean  to  make  our  poor  little  cousins  lead  as 
melancholy  an  existence  as  you  do  yourself  then,"  cried 
Rupert  with  an  angry  laugh.  Matters  were  not  progress- 
ing as  he  could  have  wished.  "  I  fear  this  will  cause  a 
good  deal  of  disappointment,  not  only  to  them  but  to  our 
revered  aunt — for  she  is  very  naturally  anxious  to  see  her 
charges  married  and  settled,  and  she  told  me  that  she 
more  or  less  counted  upon  my  aid  in  the  matter.  Now 
as  you  are  here  of  course  I  have,  thank  Heaven,  nothing 
more  to  say  one  way  or  another.  But  you  will  surely 
think  of  asking  a  few  likely  young  fellows  over  to  the 
house,  occasionally  ?  We  are  not  badly  off  for  eldest  sons 
in  the  neighbourhood  ;  Molly,  who  is  as  arrant  a  little  flirt, 
they  tell  me,  as  she  is  pretty,  will  be  grateful  to  you  for 
the  attention,  on  the  score  of  amusement  at  least." 

Mr.  Landale,  speaking  somewhat  at  random  out  of  his 
annoyance  to  have  failed  in  immediately  disgusting  the 
hermit  of  the  responsibilities  his  return  home  might  entail, 
here  succeeded  by  chance  in  producing  the  desired  impres- 
sion. 

The  idea  of  Molly — Cecile's  double — marrying — worse 
still,  making  love,  coquetting  before  his  eyes,  was  intol- 
erable to  Adrian.  To  have  to  look  on,  and  see  Cecile's 
eyes  lavish  glances  of  love;  her  lips,  soft  words  and  lin- 
gering smiles,  upon  some  country  fool ;  to  have  himself 
to  give  this  duplicate  of  his  love's  sweet  body  to  one  un- 
worthy perhaps — it  stung  him  with  a  pain  as  keen  as  it 
was  unreasonable.  It  was  terrible  to  be  so  made,  that 
the  past  was  ever  as  living  as  the  present  !  But  he  must 
face  the  situation,  he  must  grapple  with  his  own  weak- 
ness. Tender  memories  had  lured  him  from  his  retreat 
and  made  him  for  a  short  time  almost  believe  that  he 
could  live  with  them,  happy  a  little  while,  in  his  own 
home  again  ;  but  now  it  was  these  very  memories  that 
were  rising  like  avengers  to  drive  him  hence. 

Of  course  the  child  must  marry  if  there  her  happiness 
lay.  Ay,  and  both  Cdcile's  children  must  be  amused, 
made  joyful,  while  they  still  could  enjoy  life — Rupert 
was  right — right  in  all  he  said — but  he,  Adrian,  could  not 
be  there  to  see.     That  was  beyond  his  endurance. 


i88  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

It  was  impossible  of  course,  for  one  so  single-minded 
himself,  to  follow  altogether  the  doublings  of  such  a  mind 
as  Rupert's  ;  but  through  the  melancholy  relief  of  this 
sudden  resolution,  Adrian  was  distinctly  conscious  of  the 
underlying  duplicity,  the  unworthy  motives  which  had 
prompted  his  brother's  arguments. 

He  rose  from  the  table,  and  looked  down  with  sad 
gaze  at  the  younger's  beautiful  mask  of  a  face. 

"  God  knows,"  he  said,  "  God  knows,  Rupert,  I  do  not 
so  often  inflict  my  presence  upon  you  that  you  should  be 
so  anxious  to  show  me  how  much  better  1  should  do  to 
keep  away.  I  admit  nevertheless  the  justice  of  all  you 
say.  It  is  but  right  that  Mesdemoiselles  de  Savenaye 
should  be  surrounded  with  young  and  cheerful  society  ; 
and  even  were  I  in  a  state  to  act  as  master  of  the  revels 
(here  he  smiled  a  little  dreamily),  my  very  presence,  as 
you  say,  would  cast  a  gloom  upon  their  merrymaking — I 
will  go.  I  will  go  back  to  the  island  to-night — I  can  rely 
upon  you  to  assist  me  to  do  so  quietly  without  unneces- 
sary scenes  or  explanations — yes — yes — I  know  you  will 
be  ready  to  facilitate  matters  !  Strange  !  It  is  only  a 
few  hours  ago  since  Tanty  almost  persuaded  me  that  it 
was  my  duty  to  remain  here  ;  now  you  have  made  me 
see  that  I  have  no  choice  but  to  leave.  Have  no  fear, 
Rupert— I  go.  I  shall  write  to  Tanty.  But  remember 
only,  that  as  you  treat  Cecile's  children,  so  shall  I  shape 
my  actions  towards  you  in  future." 

Slowly  he  moved  away,  leaving  Rupert  motionless  in 
his  seat ;  and  long  did  the  younger  brother  remain 
moodily  fixing  the  purple  bloom  of  the  grapes  with  un- 
seeing eyes. 


PART  III 
"CAPTAIN  JACK,"  THE  GOLD  SMUGGLER 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  GOLD  SMUGGLER  AND  THE  PHILOSOPHER 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  which  had  seen  Miss  Molly's 
departure  for  the  main  land,  Rene,  after  the  usual  brisk 
post-prandial  altercation  with  old  Margery  by  her  kitchen 
fire,  was  cheerfully  finding  his  way,  lantern  in  hand,  to 
his  turret,  when  in  the  silence  of  the  night  he  heard  the 
door  of  the  keep  open  and  close,  and  presently  recognised 
Sir  Adrian's  tread  echoing  on  the  flagged  steps  beneath 
him. 

Astonished  at  this  premature  return  and  full  of  vague 
dismay,  he  hurried  down  to  receive  his  master. 

There  was  a  cloud  on  Sir  Adrian's  face,  plainly  dis- 
cernible in  spite  of  the  unaltered  composure  of  his  manner. 

"I  did  not  expect  your  honour  back  so  soon,"  said 
Rend,  tentatively. 

"I  myself  did  not  anticipate  to  return.  I  had  thought 
I  might  perhaps  stay  some  days  at  Pulwick.  But  I  find 
there  is  no  home  like  this  one  for  me,  Rene." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  But  when  Rend  had  re- 
kindled a  blaze  upon  the  hearth  and  set  the  lamp  upon 
the  table,  he  stood  a  moment  before  withdrawing,  almost 
begging  by  his  look  some  further  crumb  of  information. 

"My  room  is  ready,  I  suppose  ?  "  inquired  Sir  Adrian. 

"Yes,  your  honour,"  quoth  the  man  ruefully,  "Mar- 
gery and  I  put  it  back  exactly  as — as  before. " 

"Good-night  then,  good-night !  "  said  the  master  after 
a  pause,  warming  his  hands  as  the  flames  began  to  leap 
through  the  network  of  twigs.  "  I  shall  go  to  bed,  I  am 
tired  ;  I  had  to  row  myself  across.  You  will  take  the 
boat  back  to-morrow  morning." 

Rend  opened  his  mouth  to  speak  ;  caught  the  sound  of 
a  sigh  coming  from  the  hearthside,  and,  shaking  his  head, 
in  silence  obeyed  the  implied  dismissal.  And  bitterly  did 
he  meditate  in  his  bunk,  that  night,  upon  the  swift  crum- 

191 


192  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

bling  of  those  air-castles  he  had  built  himself  so  gaily- 
erstwhile,  in  the  rose  and  blue  atmosphere  that  La 
Demoiselle  had  seemed  to  bring  with  her  to  Scarthey. 

From  the  morrow  the  old  regular  mode  of  life  began 
again  in  the  keep. 

Sir  Adrian  read  a  good  deal,  or  at  least  appeared  so  to 
do  ;  but  Rene,  who  kept  him  more  than  ever  under  his 
glances  of  wistful  sympathy,  noted  that  far  from  being 
absorbed,  as  of  old,  in  the  pages  of  his  book,  the  recluse's 
eyes  wandered  much  off  its  edges  into  space  ;  that  when 
writing,  or  at  least  intent  on  writing,  his  pen  would  linger 
long  in  the  bottle  and  hover  listlessly  over  the  paper; 
that  he  was  more  abstracted,  even  than  his  wont,  when 
looking  out  of  the  eastern  window;  and  that  on  the  plat- 
form of  the  beacon  it  was  the  landward  view  which  most 
drew  his  gaze. 

There  was  also  more  music  in  the  keep  than  was  the 
custom  in  evener  days.  Seated  at  his  organ  the  light- 
keeper  seemed  to  find  a  voice  for  such  thoughts  as  were 
not  to  be  spoken  or  written,  and  relief  for  the  nameless 
pity  of  them.  But  never  a  word  passed  between  the  two 
men  on  the  subject  that  filled  both  their  hearts. 

It  was  Sir  Adrian's  pleasure  that  things  at  Scarthey 
should  seem  to  be  exactly  the  same  as  before,  and  that 
was  enough  for  Rend. 

"And  yet,"  mused  the  faithful  fellow,  within  his  dis- 
turbed mind,  "  the  ruins  now  look  like  a  house  the  day 
after  an  interment.  If  we  were  lonely  before,  my  faith, 
now  we  are  desolate.^  "  and,  trying  to  find  something  or 
somebody  to  charge  with  the  curse  of  it,  he  invariably 
fell  to  upon  Mr,  Landale's  sleek  head,  why,  he  could 
hardly  have  explained. 

Three  new  days  had  thus  passed  in  the  regularity,  if 
not  the  serenity  of  the  old — they  seemed  old  already, 
buried  far  back  in  the  past,  those  days  that  had  lapsed  so 
evenly  before  the  brightness  of  youthful  and  beautiful  life 
had  entered  the  keep  for  one  brief  moment,  and  depart- 
ing, again  left  it  a  ruin  indeed — when  the  retirement  of 
Scarthey  was  once  more  invaded  by  an  unexpected 
visitor.  It  was  about  sundown  of  the  shortest  day.  Sir 
Adrian  was  at  his  organ,  almost  unconsciously  interpret- 
ing his  own  sadness  into  music.     In  time  the  yearning  of 


THE  GOLD  SMUGGLER  193 

his  soul  had  had  expression,  the  echo  of  the  last  sighing 
chord  died  away  in  the  tranquil  air,  yet  the  musician, 
with  head  bent  upon  his  breast,  remained  lost  in  far- 
away thoughts. 

A  slight  shuffling  noise  disturbed  him  ;  turning  round 
to  greet  Rene  as  he  supposed,  he  was  astonished  to  see  a 
man's  figure  lolling  in  his  own  arm-chair. 

As  he  peered  inquiringly  into  the  twilight,  the  intruder 
rose  to  his  feet,  and  cried  with  a  voice  loud  and  clear, 
pleasant  withal  to  the  ear  : 

"Sir  Adrian,  I  am  sorry  you  have  stopped  so  soon  ;  I 
never  heard  anything  more  beautiful  !  The  door  was 
ajar,  and  I  crept  in  like  a  cat,  not  to  disturb  you." 

Still  in  doubt,  but  with  his  fine  air  of  courtesy,  the 
light-keeper  advanced  towards  the  uninvited  guest. 

"Am  I  mistaken,''  he  said,  with  some  hesitation, 
"surely  this  is  Hubert  Cochrane's  voice.''  " 

"Jack  Smith's  voice,  my  dear  fellow;  Jack  Smith,  at 
your  service,  please  to  remember,"  answered  the  visitor, 
with  a  genial  ring  of  laughter  in  his  words.  "  Not  that 
it  matters  much  here,  I  suppose  !  Had  I  not  heard  the 
peal  of  your  organ  I  should  have  thought  Scarthey  de- 
serted indeed.  I  could  find  no  groom  of  the  chambers  to 
announce  me  in  due  form.'' 

As  he  spoke,  the  two  had  drawn  near  each  other  and 
clasped  hands  heartily. 

"Now,  to  think  of  your  knowing  my  voice  in  this 
manner !  You  have  a  devilish  knack  of  spotting  your 
man,  Sir  x\drian.  It  is  almost  four  years  since  I  was  here 
last,  is  it  not .?  " 

"  Four  years  ? — so  it  is  ;  and  four  years  that  have  done 
well  by  you,  it  would  appear.  What  a  picture  of  strength 
and  lustiness  !  It  really  seems  to  regenerate  one,  and 
put  heart  of  grace  in  one,  only  to  take  you  by  the  hand. 
— Welcome,  Captain  Smith  !  " 

Nothing  could  have  more  succinctly  described  the 
outer  man  of  him  who  chose  to  be  known  by  that  most 
nondescript  of  patronymics.  Sir  Adrian  stood  for  a 
moment,  contemplating,  with  glances  of  approval  such 
as  he  seldom  bestowed  on  his  fellow-man,  the  symmet- 
rical, slender,  yet  vigorous  figure  of  his  friend,  and  re- 
sponding with  an  unwonted  cheerfulness  to  the  smile 
that  lit  up  the  steel-blue  eyes,  and  parted  the  shapely, 

13 


194  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

strong,    and  good-humoured    mouth    of   the   privateers- 
man. 

"  Dear  me,  and  what  a  buck  we  have  become  !  "  con- 
tinued the  baronet,  "  what  splendid  plumage  !  It  is  good 
to  see  you  so  prosperous.  And  so  this  is  the  latest 
fashion  ?  No  doubt  it  sets  forth  the  frame  of  a  goodly- 
man,  though  no  one  could  guess  at  the  '  sea  dog  '  beneath 
such  a  set  of  garments.  I  used  to  consider  my  brother 
Rupert  the  most  especial  dandy  I  had  ever  seen  ;  but 
that,  evidently,  was  my  limited  experience  :  even  Rupert 
cannot  display  so  perfect  a  fit  in  bottle-green  coats,  so 
faultless  a  silken  stock,  buckskins  of  such  matchless 
drab  !  " 

Captain  Jack  laughed,  blushed  slightly  under  the  friendly 
banter,  and  allowed  himself  to  be  thrust  back  into  the 
seat  he  had  just  vacated. 

"Welcome  again,  on  my  lonely  estate.  I  hope  this  is 
not  to  be  a  mere  flying  visit  ?  You  know  my  misanthropy 
vanishes  when  I  have  your  company.  How  did  you 
come.''  Not  by  the  causeway,  I  should  say,"  smiling 
again,  and  glancing  at  the  unblemished  top-boots. 

''  I  have  two  men  waiting  for  me  in  the  gig  below ;  my 
schooner,  the  Peregrme,  lies  in  the  offing." 

The  elder  man  turned  to  the  window,  and  through  the 
grey  curtain  of  crepuscule  recognised  the  rakish  topsail 
schooner  that  had  excited  Molly's  admiration  some  days 
before.     He  gazed  forth  upon  it  a  few  meditative  moments. 

"  Not  knowing  whether  I  would  find  you  ready  to  re- 
ceive me,"  pursued  the  captain,  "I  arranged  that  the 
Peregrine  was  to  wait  for  me  if  I  had  to  return  to-night." 

"Which,  of  course,  is  not  to  be  heard  of,"  said  Sir  Adrian. 
*'Here  is  Renny  ;  he  will  carry  word  that  with  me  you 
remain  to-night  ....  Come,  Renny,  do  you  recognise 
an  old  acquaintance?  " 

Already  well  disposed  towards  any  one  who  could  call 
this  note  of  pleasure  into  the  loved  voice,  the  Breton,  who 
had  just  entered,  turned  to  give  a  broad  stare  at  the  hand- 
some stranger,  then  burst  into  a  guffaw  of  pure  delight. 
"By  my  faith,  it  is  Mr.  the  Lieutenant  !  "  he  ejaculated  ; 
adding,  as  ingeniously  asTanty  herself  might  have  done, 
that  he  would  never  have  known  him  again. 

"  It  is  ]\Ir.  the  Captain  now,  Renny,"  said  that  person, 
and  held  out  a  strong  hand  to  grip  that  of  the  little  French- 


THE  GOLD  SMUGGLER  195 

man,  which  the  latter,  after  the  preliminary  rubbing  upon 
his  trousers  that  his  code  of  manners  enjoined,  readily 
extended. 

"Ah,  it  is  a  good  wind  that  sent  you  here  this  day," 
said  he,  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction  when  this  ceremony 
had  been  duly  gone  through. 

"You  say  well, "  acquiesced  his  master,  "it  has  ever 
been  a  good  wind  that  has  brought  Captain  Jack  across 
my  path." 

And  then  receiving  directions  to  refresh  the  gig's  crew 
and  dismiss  them  back  to  their  ship  with  instructions  to 
return  for  orders  on  the  morrow,  the  servant  hurried  forth, 
leaving  the  two  friends  once  more  alone. 

"Thanks,"  said  Captain  Jack,  when  the  door  had  closed 
upon  the  messenger.  "  That  will  exactly  suit  my  purpose. 
I  have  a  good  many  things  to  talk  over  with  you,  since  you 
so  kindly  give  me  the  opportunity.  In  the  first  place,  let 
me  unburden  myself  of  a  debt  which  is  now  of  old  stand- 
ing— and  let  me  say  at  the  same  time,"  added  the  young 
man,  rising  to  deposit  upon  the  table  a  letter-case  which 
he  had  taken  from  his  breast-pocket,  "that  though  my 
actual  debt  is  now  met,  my  obligation  to  you  remains  the 
same  and  will  always  be  so.  You  said  just  now  that  I 
looked  prosperous,  and  so  I  am — owing  somewhat  to  good 
luck,  it  is  true,  but  owing  above  all  to  you.  No  luck 
would  have  availed  me  much  without  that  to  start  upon." 
And  he  pointed  to  the  contents  of  the  case,  a  thick  bundle 
of  notes  which  his  host  was  now  smilingly  turning  over 
with  the  tip  of  his  fingers. 

**  I  might  have  sent  you  a  draft,  but  there  is  no  letter- 
post  that  I  know  of  to  Scarthey,  and,  besides,  it  struck 
me  that  just  as  these  four  thousand  pounds  had  privately 
passed  between  you  and  me,  you  might  prefer  them  to 
be  returned  in  the  same  manner." 

"  I  prefer  it,  since  it  has  brought  you  in  person,"  said 
Sir  Adrian,  thrusting  the  parcel  into  a  drawer  and  pulling 
his  chair  closer  towards  his  guest.  ' '  Dealings  with  a  man 
like  you  give  one  a  taste  of  an  ideal  world.  Would  that 
more  human  transactions  could  be  carried  out  in  so  simple 
and  frank  a  manner  as  this  little  business  of  ours  !  " 

Captain  Jack  laughed  outright. 

"  Upon  my  word,  you  are  a  greater  marvel  to  me  every 
time  I  see  you — which  is  not  by  any  means  often  enough  ! " 


196  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

The  other  raised  his  eyebrows  in  interrogation,  and  the 
sailor  went  on  : 

"Is  it  really  possible  that  it  is  to  my  mode  of  dealing 
that  you  attribute  the  delightful  simplicity  of  a  transaction 
involving  a  little  fortune  from  hand  to  hand  ?  And  where 
pray,  in  this  terraqueous  sublunary  sphere — I  heard  that 
good  phrase  from  a  literary  exquisite  at  Bath,  and  it  seems 
to  me  comprehensive — where,  then,  on  this  terraqueous 
sublunary  globe  of  ours.  Sir  Adrian  Landale,  could  one 
expect  to  find  another  person  ready  to  lend  a  privateers- 
man,  trading  under  an  irresponsible  name,  the  sum  of  four 
thousand  pounds,  without  any  other  security  than  his 
volunteered  promise  to  return  it — if  possible  ?  " 

Sir  Adrian,  ignoring  the  tribute  to  his  own  merits,  arose 
and  placed  his  friendly  hand  on  the  speaker's  shoulder  : 
"And  now,  my  dear  Jack,"  he  said  gravely,  "that  the 
war  is  over,  you  will  have  to  turn  your  energies  in  an- 
other direction.  I  am  glad  you  are  out  of  that  unworthy 
trade." 

Captain  Jack  bounded  up:  "No,  no,  Sir  Adrian,  I 
value  your  opinion  too  much  to  allow  such  a  statement 
to  pass  unchallenged.  Unworthy  trade  !  We  have  not 
given  back  those  French  devils  one  half  of  the  harm  they 
have  done  to  our  own  merchant  service  ;  it  was  war,  you 
know,  and  you  know  also,  or  perhaps  you  don't — in 
which  case  let  me  tell  you — \^7iivi\y  Cormorant  has  made 
her  goodly  name,  ay,  and  brought  her  commander  a 
fair  share  of  his  credit,  by  her  energy  in  bringing  to  an 

incredible  number  of  those  d d  French  sharks — beg 

pardon,  but  you  know  the  pestilent  breed.  Well,  we 
shall  never  agree  upon  the  subject  I  fear.  As  for  me, 
the  smart  of  the  salt  air,  the  sting  of  the  salt  breeze,  the 
fighting,  the  danger,  they  have  got  into  my  blood  ;  and 
even  now  it  sometimes  comes  over  me  that  life  will  not 
be  perfect  life  to  me  without  the  dancing  boards  under 
my  feet  and  the  free  waves  around  me,  and  my  jolly  boys 
to  lead  to  death  or  glory.  Yet,  could  you  but  know  it, 
this  is  the  veriest  treason,  and  I  revoke  the  words  a  thou- 
sand times.  You  look  amazed,  and  well  you  may  :  ah, 
I  have  much  to  tell  you  !  But  I  take  it  you  will  not  care 
to  hear  all  I  have  been  able  to  achieve  on  the  basis  of 
your  munificent  help  at  my — ahem,  unworthy  trade." 

"Well,   no,"  said    Sir    Adrian    smiling,    "I    can  quite 


THE  GOLD  SMUGGLER  197 

imagine  it,  and  imagine  it  without  enthusiasm,  though, 
perhaps,  as  you  say,  such  things  have  to  be.  But  I 
should  like  to  know  of  these  present  circumstances,  these 
prospects  which  make  you  look  so  happy.  No  doubt  the 
fruits  of  peace  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  suppose  in  one  way  they  may  be  called  so. 
Yet  without  the  war  and  your  helping  hand  they  would 
even  now  hang  as  far  from  me  as  the  grapes  from  the  fox. 
— When  I  arrived  in  England  three  months  after  the  peace 
had  been  signed,  I  had  accumulated  in  the  books  of 
certain  banks  a  tolerably  respectable  account,  to  the 
credit  of  a  certain  person,  whose  name,  oddly  enough, 
you  on  one  or  two  occasions  have  applied,  absently,  to 
Captain  Jack  Smith.  I  was,  I  will  own,  already  feeling 
inclined  to  discuss  with  myself  the  propriety  of  assuming 
the  name  in  question,  when,  there  came  something  in 
my  way  of  which  1  shall  tell  you  presently  ;  which  some- 
thing has  made  me  resolve  to  remain  Captain  Smith  for 
some  time  longer.  The  old  Cormorant  lay  at  Bristol,  and 
being  too  big  for  this  new  purpose,  I  sold  her.  It  was 
like  cutting  off  a  limb.  I  loved  every  plank  of  her  ;  knew 
every  frisk  of  her  !  She  served  me  well  to  the  end,  for 
she  fetched  her  value — almost.  Next,  having  time  on 
my  hands,  I  bethought  myself  of  seeing  again  a  little  of 
the  world  ;  and  when  I  tell  you  that  I  drove  over  to  Bath, 
you  may  perhaps  begin  to  see  what  I  am  coming  to." 

Sir  Adrian  suddenly  turned  in  his  chair  to  face  his  friend 
again,  with  a  look  of  singular  attention. 

"Well,   no,   not  exactly,   and  yet — unless — ?     Pshaw! 

impossible !  "    upon    which    lucid    commentary    he 

stopped,  gazing  with  anxious  inquiry  into  Captain  Jack's 
smiling  eyes.  "Ah,  I  believe  you  have  just  a  glimmer 
of  the  truth  with  that  confounded  perspicacity  of  yours," 
saying  which  the  sailor  laughed  and  blushed  not  unbecom- 
ingly. "This  is  how  it  came  about  :  I  had  transactions 
with  old  John  Harewood,  the  banker,  in  Bristol,  trans- 
actions advantageous  to  both  sides,  but  perhaps  most  to 
him — sly  old  dog.  At  any  rate,  the  old  fellow  took  a 
monstrous  fancy  to  me,  over  his  claret,  and  when  I  men- 
tioned Bath,  recommended  me  to  call  upon  his  wife 
(a  very  fine  dame,  who  prefers  the  fashion  of  the  Spa  to 
the  business  of  Bristol,  and  consequently  lives  as  much 
in  the  former  place  as  good  John  Harewood  will  allow). 


198  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

Well,  you  wonder  at  my  looking-  prosperous  and  happy. 
Listen,  for  here  is  the  hie  :  At  Lady  Maria  Harewood's 
I  met  one  who,  if  I  mistake  not,  is  of  your  kin.  Already, 
then,  somewhere  at  the  back  of  my  memory  dwelt  the 

name  of  Savenaye Halloa,  bless  me  !     I   have  surely 

said  nothing  to !  " 

The  young  man  broke  off,  disconcerted.  Sir  Adrian's 
face  had  become  unwontedly  clouded,  but  he  waved  the 
speaker  on  impatiently:  "No,  no,  I  am  surprised,  of 
course,  only  surprised  ;  never  mind  me,  my  thoughts 
wandered — please  go  on.     So  you  have  met  her  .-*  " 

"Ay,  that  I  have!  Now  it  is  no  use  beating  about 
the  bush.  You  who  know  her — you  do  know  her  of 
course — will  jump  at  once  to  the  only  possible  con- 
clusion. Ah,  Adrian  !  "  Captain  Jack  pursued,  pacing 
enthusiastically  about,  "I  have  been  no  saint,  and  no 
doubt  I  have  fancied  myself  as  a  lover  once  or  twice  ere 
this  ;  but  to  see  that  girl,  sir,  means  a  change  in  a  man's 
life  :  to  have  met  the  light  of  those  sweet  eyes  is  to  love, 
to  love  in  reality.  It  is  to  feel  ashamed  of  the  idiotic 
make-believes  of  former  loves.  To  love  her,  even  in  vague 
hope,  is  to  be  glorious  already  ;  and,  by  George,  to  have 
her  troth,  is  to  be — I  cannot  say  what  ....  to  be  what 
I  am  now  !  " 

The  lover's  face  was  illumined ;  he  walked  the  room 
like  one  treading  on  air  as  the  joy  within  him  found  its 
voice  in  words. 

Sir  Adrian  listened  with  an  extraordinary  tightness  at 
his  heart.  He  had  loved  one  woman  even  so  ;  that  love 
was  still  with  him,  as  the  scent  clings  to  the  phial ;  but 
the  sight  of  this  young,  joyful  love  made  him  feel  old  in 
that  hour — old  as  he  had  never  realised  before.  There 
was  no  room  in  his  being  for  such  love  again.  And  yet 
.  .  .  .  ?  There  was  a  tremulous  anxiety  in  the  question 
he  put,  after  a  short  pause.  "There  are  two  Demoiselles 
de  Savenaye,  Jack  ;  which  is  it?  " 

Captain  Jack  halted,  turned  on  his  heels,  and  exclaimed 
enthusiastically  :  "To  me  there  is  but  one — one  woman 
in  the  world — Madeleine  !  "  His  look  met  that  of  Sir 
Adrian  in  full,  and  even  in  the  midst  of  his  own  self- 
centred  mood  he  could  not  fail  to  notice  the  transient 
gleam  that  shot  in  the  cider's  eyes,  and  the  sudden  re- 
laxation of  his  features.     He  pondered  for  a  moment  or 


THE  GOLD  SMUGGLER  199 

two,  scannings  the  while  the  countenance  of  the  recluse  ; 
then  a  smile  lighted  up  his  own  bronzed  face  in  a  very- 
sweet  and  winning  way.  "  As  her  kinsman,  have  I  your 
approval  ?  "  he  asked  and  proceeded  earnestly  :  "  To  tell 
the  truth  at  once,  I  was  looking  to  even  more  than  your 
approval — to  your  support." 

Sir  Adrian's  mood  had  undergone  a  change :  as  a 
breeze  sweeping  from  a  new  quarter  clears  in  a  moment 
a  darkening  mist  from  the  face  of  the  earth.  Captain  Jack's 
answer  had  blown  away  for  the  nonce  the  atmosphere  of 
misgiving  that  enveloped  him.  He  answered  promptly, 
and  with  warmth:  "Being  your  friend,  I  am  glad  to 
know  of  this  ;  being  her  kinsman,  I  may  add,  my  dear 
Hubert" — there  was  just  a  tinge  of  hesitation,  followed 
by  a  certain  emphasis,  on  the  change  of  name — "  I  prom- 
ise to  support  you  in  your  hopes,  in  so  far  as  I  have  any 
influence  ;  for  power  or  right  over  my  cousin  I  have 
none." 

The  sailor  threw  himself  down  once  more  in  his  arm- 
chair ;  and,  tapping  his  shining  hessians  with  the  stem 
of  his  long  clay  in  smiling  abstraction,  began,  with  all  a 
lover's  egotism,  to  expatiate  on  the  theme  that  filled  his 
heart. 

"  It  is  a  singular,  an  admirable,  a  never  sufficiently-to- 
be-praised  conjunction  of  affairs  which  has  ultimately 
brought  me  near  you  when  I  was  pursuing  the  Light  o' 
my  Heart,  ruthlessly  snatched  away  by  a  cunning  and 
implacable  dragon,  known  to  you  as  Miss  O'Donoghue. 
I  say  dragon  in  courtesy  ;  I  called  her  by  better  names 
before  I  realised  what  a  service  she  was  unconsciously 
rendering  us  by  this  sudden  removal." 

"Known  to  me!"  laughed  Sir  Adrian.  "My  own 
mother's  sister !  " 

"Then  I  still  further  retract.  Moreover,  seeing  how 
things  have  turned  out,  I  must  now  regard  her  as  an 
angel  in  disguise.  Don't  look  so  surprised  !  Has  she 
not  brought  my  love  under  your  protection?  I  thought 
I  was  tolerably  proof  against  the  little  god,  but  then  he 
had  never  shot  his  arrows  at  me  from  between  the  long 
lashes  of  Madeleine  de  Savenaye.  Oh,  those  eyes, 
Adrian  !  So  unlike  those  southern  eyes  I  have  known 
so  well,  too  well  in  other  days,  brilliant,  hard,  challeng- 
ing battle  from  the  first  glance,  and  yet  from  the  first 


200  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

promising  that  surrender  which  is  ever  so  speedy.  Pah  ! 
no  more  of  such  memories.  Before  her  blue  eyes,  on  my 
first  introduction,  I  felt — well,  I  felt  as  the  novice  does 
under  the  first  broadside." 

The  speaker  looked  dreamily  into  space,  as  if  the  deli- 
cious moment  rose  again  panoramically  before  him. 

"  Well,"  he  pursued,  "that  did  me  no  harm,  after  all. 
Lady  Maria  Harewood,  who,  I  have  learned  since,  deals 
strongly  in  sentiment,  and,  being  unfortunately  debarred 
by  circumstances  from  indulgence  in  the  soothing  luxury 
on  her  own  behalf,  loves  to  promote  matches  more 
poetical — she  calls  it  more  '  harmonious  '  — than  her  own 
very  prosaic  one,  she,  dear  lady,  was  delighted  with 
such  a  rarity  as  a  bashful  privateersman — her  'tame 
corsair,*  as  I  heard  her  call  your  humble  servant. — I 
was  a  hero,  sir,  a  perfect  hero  of  romance  in  the  course 
of  a  few  days  !  On  the  strength  of  this  renown  thrust 
upon  me  I  found  grace  before  the  most  adorable  blue 
eyes  ;  had  words  of  sympathy  from  the  sweetest  lips, 
and  smiles  from  the  most  bewitching  little  mouth  in  all 
the  world.  So  you  see  I  owe  poor  Lady  Maria  a  good 
thought You  laugh  }  " 

Sir  Adrian  was  smiling,  but  all  in  benevolence,  at  the 
artlessness  of  this  eager  youth,  who  in  all  the  uncon- 
scious glory  of  his  looks  and  strength,  ascribed  the  credit 
of  his  entrance  into  a  maiden's  heart  to  the  virtue  of  a 
few  irresponsible  words  of  recommendation. 

"  Ah  !  those  were  days  !  Everything  went  on  smoothly, 
and  I  was  debating  with  myself  whether  I  would  not,  at 
once,  boldly  ask  her  to  be  the  wife  of  Hubert  Cochrane  ; 
though  the  casting  of  Jack  Smith's  skin  would  have  neces- 
sitated the  giving  up  of  several  of  his  free-trading  engage- 
ments." 

"Free  trading!  You  do  not  mean  to  say,  man  alive, 
that  you  have  turned  smuggler  now  !  "  interrupted  Sir 
Adrian  aghast. 

"  Smuggler,"  cried  Jack  with  his  frank  laugh,  "peace, 
I  beg,  friend  !  Miscall  not  a  gentleman  thus.  Smug- 
gler— pirate  ?  I  cut  a  pretty  figure  evidently  in  your 
worship's  eyes.  Lucky  for  me  you  never  would  be 
sworn  as  a  magistrate,  or  where  should  I  be  ...  .  and 
you  too,  between  duty  and  friendship.? — But  to  proceed  : 
I  was  about,    as    I    have   said,  to  give   that  up    for   the 


THE  GOLD  SMUGGLER  201 

reasons  I  mentioned,  when,  upon  a  certain  fine  evening,  I 
crossed  the  path  of  one  of  the  most  masterful  old  maids  I 
have  ever  seen,  or  even  heard  of;  and,  would  you  believe 
it  ?  " — this  with  a  quizzical  look  at  his  host's  grave  face — 
*'this  misguided  old  lady  took  such  a  violent  dislike  to 
me  at  first  sight,  and  expressed  it  so  thoroughly  well, 
that,  hang  me  if  I  was  not  completely  brought  to.  And 
all  for  escorting  my  dear  one  from  Lady  Maria's  house 
to  her  own  !  Well,  the  walk  was  worth  it — though  the 
old  crocodile  was  on  the  watch  for  us,  ready  to  snap  ; 
had  got  wind  of  the  secret,  somehow,  a  secret  unspoken 
even  between  us  two.  This  first  and  last  interview  took 
place  on  the  flags,  in  front  of  No.  17  Camden  Place, 
Bath.  Oh  !  It  was  a  very  one-sided  affair  from  the 
beginning,  and  ended  abruptly  in  a  door  being  banged 
in  my  face.  Then  I  heard  about  Miss  O'Donoghue's 
peculiarities  in  the  direction  of  exclusiveness.  And  then, 
also,  oddly  enough,  for  the  first  time,  of  the  great  fortune 
going  with  my  Madeleine's  hand.  Of  course  I  saw  it  all, 
and,  I  may  say,  forgave  the  old  lady.  In  short,  I  realised 
that,  in  Miss  O'Donoghue's  mind,  I  am  nothing  but  an 
unprincipled  fortune-seeker  and  adventurer.  Now  you, 
Adrian,  can  vouch  that,  whatever  my  faults,  I  am  none 
such." 

Sir  Adrian  threw  a  quiet  glance  at  his  friend,  whose 
eyes  sparkled  as  they  met  it. 

"God  knows,"  continued  the  latter,  *' that  all  I  care 
for,  concerning  the  money,  is  that  she  may  have  it.  This 
last  venture,  the  biggest  and  most  difficult  of  all,  I  then 
decided  to  undertake,  that  I  might  be  the  fitter  mate  for 
the  heiress — bless  her  !  Oh,  Adrian,  man,  could  you  have 
seen  her  sweet  tearful  face  that  night,  you  would  under- 
stand that  I  could  not  rest  upon  such  a  parting.  In  the 
dawn  of  the  next  morning  I  was  in  the  street — not  so 
much  upon  the  chance  of  meeting,  though  I  knew  that 
such  sweetness  would  have  now  to  be  all  stolen — but  to 
watch  her  door,  her  window  ;  a  lover's  trick,  rewarded 
by  lover's  luck  !  Leaning  on  the  railings,  through  the 
cold  mist  (cold  it  was,  though  I  never  felt  it,  but  I  mind 
me  now  how  the  icicles  broke  under  my  hand),  what 
should  I  see,  before  even  the  church-bells  had  set  to  chi- 
ming, or  the  yawning  sluts  to  pull  the  kitchen  curtains, 
but  a  bloated  monster  of  a  coach,   dragging  and  sliding 


202  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

up  the  street  to  halt  at  her  very  door.  Then  out  came 
the  beldam  herself,  and  two  muffled-up  slender  things — 
my  Madeleine  one  of  course  ;  but  I  had  a  regular  turn  at 
sight  of  them,  for  I  swear  I  could  not  tell  which  was 
which  !  Off  rattled  the  chariot  at  a  smart  pace  ;  and 
there  I  stood,  friend,  feeling  as  if  my  heart  was  tied  be- 
hind with  the  trunks." 

The  sailor  laughed,  ran  his  fingers  through  his  curls  and 
stamped  in  lively  recollection. 

"Nothing  to  be  drawn  from  their  landlady.  But  I  am 
not  the  man  to  allow  a  prize  to  be  snatched  from  under 
my  very  nose.  So,  anathematising  Miss  O'Donoghue's 
family-tree,  root,  stem,  and  branch — except  that  most 
lovely  off-shoot  I  mean  to  transplant  (you  will  forgive 
this  heat  of  blood  ;  it  was  clearing  for  action  so  to  speak) 
— I  ran  out  and  overtook  the  ostler  whom  I  had  seen  put- 
ting the  finishing  touch  to  the  lashing  of  boxes  behind  ! 
'  Gloucester  V  says  he.  The  word  was  worth  the  guinea 
it  cost  me,  a  hundred  times  over. — In  less  than  an  hour 
I  was  in  the  saddle,  ready  for  pursuit,  cantering  boot  to 
boot  with  my  man — a  trusty  fellow  who  knows  how  to 
hold  his  tongue,  and  can  sit  a  horse  in  the  bargain. 
Neither  at  Gloucester,  nor  the  next  day,  up  to  Worcester, 
could  we  succeed  in  doing  more  than  keep  our  fugitives  in 
view.  When  they  had  alighted  atone  inn,  as  ascertained 
by  my  squire,  we  patronised  the  opposition  hostelry,  and 
the  ensuing  morning  cantered  steadily  in  pursuit,  on  our 
new  post-horses  half  an  hour  after  they  had  rumbled 
away  with  their  relays.  But  the  evening  of  our  arrival  at 
Worcester,  my  fellow  found  out,  at  last,  what  the  next 
stage  was  to  be,  and — clever  chap,  he  lost  nothing  for 
his  sharpness — that  the  Three  Kings'  Heads  had  been 
recommended  to  the  old  lady  as  the  best  house  in  Shrews- 
bury. This  time  we  took  the  lead,  and  on  to  Shrewsbury, 
and  were  at  the  glorious  old  Kings'  Heads  (I  in  a  private 
room,  tight  as  wax)  a  good  couple  of  hours  before  the 
chariot  made  its  appearance.  And  there,  man,  there ! 
my  pretty  one  and  I  met  again  !  " 

"That  was,  no  doubt,"  put  in  Sir  Adrian,  in  his  gentle, 
indulgent  way,  "what  made  the  Kings'  Heads  so  glo- 
rious .-*  " 

"Ay.  Right!  And  yet  it  was  but  a  few  seconds, 
on  the  stair,  under  a  smoky  lamp,   but  her  beauty  filled 


THE  GOLD  SMUGGLER  203 

the  landing  with  radiance  as  her  kindness  did  my  soul. 
— It  was  but  for  a  moment,  all  blessed  moment,  too 
brief,  alas  !  Ah,  Adrian,  friend — old  hermit  in  your 
cell— :you  have  never  known  life,  you  who  have  never 
tasted  a  moment  such  as  that  !  Then  we  started 
apart :  there  was  a  noise  below,  and  she  had  only  time 
to  whisper  that  she  was  on  her  way  to  Pulwick  to  some 
relatives — had  only  heard  it  that  very  day — when  steps 
came  up  the  stairs,  creaking.  With  a  last  promise,  a  last 
word  of  love,  I  leaped  back  into  my  own  chamber,  there 
to  see  (through  the  chink  between  door  and  post)  the  un- 
timely old  mischief-maker  herself  pass  slowly,  sour  and 
solemn,  towards  her  apartments,  leaning  upon  her  other 
niece's  arm.  How  could  I  have  thought  ihaf  baggage 
like  my  princess?  Handsome,  if  you  will;  but,  with 
her  saucy  eye,  her  raven  head,  her  brown  cheek,  no 
more  to  be  compared  to  my  stately  lily  than  brass  to 
gold  ! " 

The  host  listening  wonderingly,  his  eyes  fixed  with 
kindly  gravity  upon  the  speaker  as  he  rattled  on,  here 
gave  a  slight  start,  all  unnoticed  of  his  friend. 

"The  next  morning,  when  I  had  seen  the  coach  and  its 
precious  freight  move  on  once  more  northward,  I  began 
the  retreat  south,  hugging  myself  upon  luck  and  success. 
I  had  business  in  Salcombe — perhaps  you  may  have  heard 
of  the  Salcombe  schooners — in  connection  with  the  fitting 
out  of  that  sailing  wonder,  the  Peregrine.  And  so,"  con- 
cluded Captain  Jack,  laughing  again  in  exuberance  of 
joy,  "you  mav  possibly  guess  one  of  the  reasons  that 
has  brought  her  and  me  round  by  your  island." 

There  ensued  a  long  silence,  filled  with  thoughts, 
equally  pressing  though  of  widely  different  complexion, 
on  either  side  of  the  hearth. 

During  the  meal,  which  was  presently  set  forth  and 
proclaimed  ready  by  Ren^,  the  talk,  as  was  natural  in 
that  watchful  attendant's  presence,  ran  only  on  general 
topics,  and  was  in  consequence  fitful  and  unspontaneous. 
But  when  the  two  men,  for  all  their  difference  of  age, 
temper,  and  pursuits  so  strongly,  yet  so  oddly  united  in 
sympathy,  were  once  more  alone,  they  naturally  fell 
back  under  the  influence  of  the  more  engrossing  strain  of 
reflection.     Again  there  was  silence,  while  each  mused, 


204  THE   LIGHT   OF   SCARTHEY 

gazing  into  space  and  vaguely  listening  to  the  plash  of 
high   water   under   the  window. 

"It  must  have  been  a  strong  motive,"  said  Sir  Adrian, 
after  his  dreamy  fashion,  like  one  thinking  aloud,  "  to 
induce  a  man  like  you  to  abandon  his  honourable  name." 

Captain  Jack  flushed  at  these  words,  drew  his  elbows 
from  the  table,  and  shot  a  keen,  inquiring  glance  at  his 
friend,  which,  however,  fell  promptly  before  the  latter's 
unconscious  gaze  and  was  succeeded  by  one  of  reflective 
melancholy.  Then,  with  a  slight  sigh,  he  raised  his  glass 
to  the  lamp,  and  while  peering  abstractedly  through 
the  ruby,  "  The  story  of  turning  my  back  upon  my 
house,"  he  said  musingly,  "  shaking  its  very  dust  off  my 
feet,  so  to  speak,  and  starting  life  afresh  unbeholden  to 
my  father  (even  for  what  he  could  not  take  away  from 
me  —  my  own  name),  —  is  a  simple  affair,  although  pitiful 
enough  perhaps.  But  memories  of  family  wrongs  and 
family  quarrels  are  of  their  nature  painful ;  and,  as  I  am 
a  mirth-loving  fellow,  I  hate  to  bring  them  upon  me. 
But  perhaps  it  has  occurred  to  you  that  I  may  have 
brought  some  disgrace  upon  the  name  I  have  forsaken." 

"  I  never  allowed  myself  to  think  so,"  said  Sir  Adrian, 
surprised.  "  Your  very  presence  by  my  fireside  is  proof 
of  it." 

Again  the  captain  scrutinised  his  host;  then  with  a 
little  laugh:  "Pardon  me,"  he  cried,  "with  another 
man  one  might  accept  that  likely  proof  and  be  flattered. 
But  with  you?  why,  I  believe  I  know  you  too  well  not  to 
feel  sure  that  you  would  have  received  me  as  kindly  and 
unreservedly,  no  matter  what  my  past  if  only  you 
thought    that     I     had     repented ;    that    you     would     forgive 

even   a   crime   regretted  ;  and    having  forgiven,  forget 

But,  to  resume,  you  will  beheve  me  when  I  say  that 
there  was  nothing  of  the  sort.  No,"  he  went  on,  with  a 
musing  air,  "  but  I  could  tell  you  of  a  boy,  disliked  at  home 
for  his  stubborn  spirit,  and  one  day  thrashed,  thrashed 
mercilessly  —  at  a  time  when  he  had  thought  he  had 
reached    to  the  pride  of  man's    estate,    thrashed    by  his   own 

father,    and    for   no   just    cause Oh,    Adrian,    it    is   a 

terrible  thing  to  have  put  such  resentment  into  a  lad's 
heart."  He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  placed  himself  before 
the  hearth. 

"  If  ever   I   have  sons,"  he   added   after  a   pause,  and   at 


THE  GOLD  SMUGGLER  205 

the  words  his  whole  handsome  face  relaxed,  and  became 
suffused  with  a  tender  glow,  "  I  would  rather  cut  my 
right  hand  off  than  raise  such  a  spirit  in  them.  Well,  I 
daresay  you  can  guess  the  rest  ;  I  will  even  tell  you  in  a 
few  words,  and  then  dismiss  the  subject. — I  have  always 
had  a  certain  shrewdness  at  the  bottom  of  my  reckless- 
ness. Now  there  was  a  cousin  of  the  family,  who  had 
taken  to  commerce  in  Liverpool,  and  who  was  therefore 
despised,  ignored  and  insulted  by  us  gentry  of  the  Shaws. 
So  when  I  packed  my  bundle,  and  walked  out  of  the  park 
gate,  I  thought  of  him  ;  and  two  days  later  I  presented 
myself  at  his  mansion  in  Rodney  Street,  Liverpool.  I 
told  him  my  name,  whereat  he  scowled  ;  but  he  was 
promptly  brought  round  upon  hearing  of  my  firm  deter- 
mination to  renounce  it  and  all  relations  with  my  father's 
house  for  ever,  and  of  my  reasons  for  this  resolve,  which 
he  found  excellent.  I  could  not  have  lighted  upon  a 
better  man.  He  hated  my  family  as  heartily  as  even  I 
could  wish,  and  readily,  out  of  spite  to  them,  undertook 
to  aid  me.  He  was  a  most  enterprising  scoundrel,  had 
a  share  in  half  a  dozen  floating  ventures.  I  expressed  a 
desire  for  life  on  the  ocean  wave,  and  he  started  me 
merrily  as  his  nephew.  Jack  Smith,  to  learn  the  business 
on  a  slaver  of  his.  The  'ebony  trade,'  you  know,  was 
all  the  go  then,  Adrian.  Many  great  gentlemen  in  Lan- 
cashire had  shares  in  it.  Now  it  is  considered  low.  To 
say  true,  a  year  of  it  was  more  than  enough  for  me — too 
much  !  It  sickened  me.  My  uncle  laughed  when  I  de- 
murred at  a  second  journey,  but  to  humour  me,  as  I  had 
learned  something  of  the  sailing  trade,  he  found  me  an- 
other berth,  on  board  a  privateer,  the  Sf.  Nicholas.  My 
fortune  was  made  from  the  moment  I  set  foot  on  that 
lucky  ship,  as  you  know." 

"And  you  have  never  seen  your  father  since?" 
"  Neither  father,  nor  brothers,  nor  any  of  my  kin,  save 
the  cousin  in  question.  All  I  know  is  that  my  father  is 
dead — that  he  disinherited  me  expressly  in  the  event  of 
my  being  still  in  the  flesh  ;  my  eldest  brother  reigns  ; 
many  of  us  are  scattered,  God  knows  where.  And  my 
mother" — the  sailor's  voice  changed  slightly — "my 
mother  lives  in  her  own  house,  with  some  of  the  younger 
ones.  So  much  I  have  ascertained  quite  recently.  She 
believes  me  dead,  of  course.     Oh,  it  will  be  a  good  day, 


2o6  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

Adrian,  when  I  can  come  back  to  her,  independent,  pros- 
perous, bringing  my  beautiful  bride  with  me !  ....  But 
until  I  can  resume  my  name  in  all  freedom,  this  cannot  be." 

"  But  why,  my  dear  fellow,  these  further  risks  and  ad- 
ventures? Surely,  even  at  your  showing  you  have 
enough  of  this  world's  goods  ;  why  not  come  forward, 
now,  at  once,  openly?  I  will  introduce  you,  as  soon  as 
may  be,  in  your  real  character,  for  the  sake  of  your 
mother — of  Madeleine  herself." 

The  sailor  shook  his  head,  tempted  yet  determined. 

"  I  am  not  free  to  do  so.  I  have  given  my  word  ;  my 
honour  is  engaged,"  he  said.  Then  abruptly  asked: 
*'  Have  you  ever  heard  of  guinea  smuggling  ?  " 

"Guinea  smuggling  !  No,  "said  Sir  Adrian,  his  amaze- 
ment giving  way  to  anxiety. 

"No?  You  surprise  me.  You  who  are,  or  were,  I 
understand,  a  student  of  philosophical  matters,  freedom 
of  exchange,  and  international  intercourse  and  the  rest 
of  it — things  we  never  shall  have  so  long  as  govern- 
ments want  money,  lam  thinking. — However,  this  guinea 
smuggling  is  a  comparatively  new  business.  Now,  / 
don't  know  anything  about  the  theory  ;  but  I  know  this 
much  of  the  practice  that,  while  our  preventive  service 
won't  let  guineas  pass  the  Channel  (as  goods)  this  year, 
somebody  on  the  other  side  is  devilish  anxious  to  have 
them  at  almost  any  cost.  And  the  cost,  you  know,  is 
heavy,  for  the  risk  of  confiscation  is  great.  Well,  your 
banker  or  your  rich  man  will  not  trust  his  bullion  to  your 
common  free  trader — he  is  not  quite  such  a  fool." 

"No,"  put  in  Sir  Adrian,  as  the  other  paused  on  this 
mocking  proposition.  "In  the  old  days,  when  I  was 
busy  in  promoting  the  Savenaye  expedition,  I  came  across 
many  of  that  gentry,  and  I  cannot  mind  a  case  where 
they  could  have  been  trusted  with  such  a  freight.  But 
perhaps,"  he  added  with  a  small  smile,  "the  standard 
may  be  higher  now." 

Captain  Jack  grinned  appreciatively.  "That  is  where 
the  'likes  of  me'  comes  in.  I  will  confess  this  not  to  be 
my  first  attempt.  It  is  known  that  I  am  one  of  the  few 
whose  word  is  warranty.  What  is  more,  as  I  have  said, 
it  is  known  that  I  have  the  luck.  Thus,  even  if  I  could 
bring  my  own  name  into  such  a  trade,  I  would  not ;  it 
would  be  the  height  of  folly  to  change  now." 


THE  GOLD  SMUGGLER  207 

For  all  his  disapproval  Sir  Adrian  could  not  repress  a 
look  of  amusement.  "I  verily  believe,  Jack,"  he  said, 
shaking  his  head,  "that  you  are  as  superstitious  yourself 
as  the  best  of  them  !  " 

"I  ought  to  make  a  good  thing  out  of  it,"  said  Jack, 
evasively.  "And  even  with  all  that  is  lovely  to  keep  me 
on  shore,  I  would  hardly  give  it  up,  if  I  could.  As  things 
stand  I  could  not  if  I  would.  Do  not  condemn  me, 
Adrian, — that  would  be  fatal  to  my  hopes — nay,  I  actually 
want  your  help." 

"I  would  you  were  out  of  it,"  reiterated  Sir  Adrian  ; 
"it  takes  so  little  to  turn  the  current  of  a  man's  life  when 
he  seems  to  be  making  straight  for  happiness.  As  to  the 
morals  of  it,  I  fail,  I  must  admit,  to  perceive  any  wrong 
in  smuggling,  at  least  in  the  abstract,  except  that  a  cer- 
tain kind  of  moral  teaches  that  all  is  wrong  that  is  against 
the  law.  And  yet  so  many  of  our  laws  are  so  ferocious 
and  inept,  and  as  such  the  very  cause  of  so  much  going 
wrong  that  might  otherwise  go  well ;  so  many  of  those 
who  administer  them  are  themselves  so  ferocious  and 
inept,  that  the  mere  fact  of  a  pursuit  being  unlawful  is  no 
real  condemnation  in  my  eyes.  But,  as  you  know.  Jack, 
those  who  place  themselves  above  some  laws  almost  in- 
variably renounce  all.  If  you  are  hanged  for  stealing  a 
horse,  or  breaking  some  fiscal  law  and  hanged  for  killing 
a  man,  the  tendency,  under  stress  of  circumstances  is 
obvious.  Aye,  have  we  not  a  proverb  about  it :  as  well  be 
hanged  for  a  sheep  as  for  a  lamb .?....  There  are  grue- 
some stories  about  your  free  traders — and  gruesome  end- 
ings to  them.  I  well  remember,  in  my  young  days,  the 
clanking  gibbet  on  the  sands  near  Preston  and  the  three 
tarred  and  iron-riveted  carcases  hanging,  each  in  its 
chains,  with  the  perpetual  guard  of  carrion  crows.  .  .  . 
Hanging  in  chains  is  still  on  the  statute  book,  I  believe. 
But  I'll  stop  my  croaking  now.  You  are  not  one  to  be 
drawn  into  brutal  ways  ;  nor  one,  I  fear,  to  be  frightened 
into  prudence.  Nevertheless,"  laughing  quietly,  "I  am 
curious  to  know  in  what  way  you  expect  help  from  me, 
in  practice.  Do  you,  seriously,  want  me  to  embark 
actually  on  a  smuggling  expedition  ? — I  demur,  my  dear 
fellow." 

Obviously  relieved  of  some  anxiety,  the  other  burst  out 
laughing.      "Never  fear!     I  know  your  dislike  to  bilge 


2o8  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

water  too  well.  I  appreciate  too  well  also  your  comfort- 
able surroundings,"  he  returned,  seating  himself  once 
more  complacently  in  his  arm-chair,  "much  as  I  should 
love  your  company  on  board  my  pleasure  ship — for,  if 
you  please,  the  Peregrine  is  no  smuggling  lugger,  but 
professes  to  be  a  yacht.  Still,  you  can  be  of  help  for  all 
that,  and  without  lifting  even  a  finger  to  promote  this 
illicit  trade.  You  may  ignore  it  completely,  and  yet  you 
will  render  me  incalculable  service,  provided  you  do  not 
debar  me  from  paying  you  a  few  more  visits  in  your  soli- 
tude, and  give  me  the  range  of  your  caves  and  cellars." 

"You  are  welcome  enough,"  said  the  recluse.  "I 
trust  it  may  end  as  well  as  it  promises."  And,  after  a 
pause,  "Madeleine  does  not  know  the  nature  of  your 
present  pursuit .''" 

"Oddly  enough,  and  happily  (for  our  moments  of  in- 
terview are  short,  as  you  may  imagine)  she  is  not  curious 
on  the  subject.  I  don't  know  what  notions  the  old  Lady 
Maria  may  have  put  into  her  head  about  me.  I  think  she 
believes  that  I  am  engaged  on  some  secret  political  in- 
trigue and  approves  of  such.  At  least  I  gathered  as  much 
from  her  sympathetic  reticence  ;  and,  between  ourselves, 
I  am  beginning  to  believe  it  myself" 

"How  is  that.?"  asked  the  listener,  moved  to  fresh 
astonishment  by  this  new  departure. 

"  Well,  I  may  tell  you,  who  not  only  can  be  as  silent 
as  the  tomb,  but  really  have  a  right  to  know,  since  you 
are  tacitly  of  the  conspiracy.  This  time  the  transaction 
is  to  be  with  some  official  of  the  French  Court.  They 
want  the  metal,  and  yet  wish  to  have  it  secretly.  What 
their  motive  may  be  is  food  for  reflection  if  you  like,  but 
it  is  no  business  of  mine.  And,  besides  the  fact  that  one 
journey  will  suffice  for  a  sum  which  at  the  previous  rate 
would  have  required  half  a  score,  all  the  trouble  and  un- 
certainty of  landing  are  disposed  of ;  at  any  rate,  I  am, 
when  all  is  ready,  to  be  met  by  a  government  vessel,  get 
my  quid  pro  quo  as  will  be  settled,  and  there  the  matter  is 
to  end." 

"  A  curious  expedition,"  mused  Sir  Adrian. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  sailor,  "  my  last  will  be  the  best.  By 
the  way,  will  you  embark  a  few  bags  with  me  ?  I  will 
take  no  commission." 

Sir  Adrian  could  not  help  laughing. 


THE  GOLD  SMUGGLER  209 

"  No,  thank  you  ;  I  have  110  wash  to  launch  any  more 
of  my  patrimony  on  ventures — since  it  would  be  of  no 
service  to  you.  I  had  almost  as  lief  you  had  made  use 
of  my  old  crow's  nest  without  lettmg-  me  mto  the  ins 
and  outs  of  your  projects.  But,  be  it  as  it  may,  it  is 
yours,  night  and  day.  Your  visits  I  shall  take  as  being 
for  me." 

' '  What  a  man  you  are,  upon  my  soul,  Sir  Adrian  ! " 
cried  Captain  Jack,  enthusiastically. 

Later  on,  when  the  "  shaking  down  "  hour,  in  Captain 
Jack's  phraseology,  had  sounded,  and  the  two  friends 
separated  to  rest,  the  young  man  refused  the  offer,  dic- 
tated by  hospitality,  of  his  host's  own  bedroom.  Sir 
Adrian  did  not  press  the  point,  and,  leaving  his  guest  at 
liberty  to  enjoy  the  couch  arranged  by  Rene  in  a  corner 
under  the  bookshelves,  even  as  when  Mademoiselle  de 
Savenaye  had  been  the  guest  of  the  peel,  himself  retired 
to  that  now  hallowed  apartment. 

' '  Odd  fellow,  that, "  soliloquised  Captain  Jack,  as,  slowly 
divesting  himself,  he  paced  about  the  long  room  and,  in 
the  midst  of  roseate  reflections,  examined  his  curious 
abode.  "Withal,  as  good  as  ever  stepped.  It  was  a  fine 
day's  work  our  old  S/.  NicJiolas  did,  about  this  time  eight 
years  ago.  Rather  unlike  a  crowded  battery  deck,  this," 
looking  from  the  solemn  books  to  the  glinting  organ 
pipes,  and  conscious  of  the  great  silence.  "As  for  me, 
I  should  go  crazy  by  myself  here.  But  it  suits  him. 
Queer  fish  !  "  again  ruminated  the  young  sailor.  "  He 
hates  no  one  and  yet  dislikes  almost  everybody,  except 
that  funny  little  PVenchy  and  me.  Whereas  /  like  every 
man  I  meet — unless  I  detest  him  !  .  .  .  .  My  beautiful 
plumage  !  "  this  whilst  carefully  folding  the  superfine  coat 
and  thereon  the  endless  silken  stock.  "  Now  there's  a 
fellow  who  does  not  care  a  hang  for  any  woman  under  the 
sun,  and  yet  enters  into  another  chap's  love  affairs  as  if 
he  understood  it  all.  I  believe  it  will  make  him  happy 
to  win  my  cause  with  Madeleine.  I  wish  one  could  do 
something  for  his  happiness.  It  is  absurd,  you  know," 
as  though  apostrophising  an  objector,  "  a  man  can't  be 
happy  without  a  woman.  And  yet  again,  my  good  Jack, 
you  never  thought  that  before  you  met  Madeleine.  He 
has  not  met  his  Madeleine,  that's  what  it  means.  Where 
14 


2IO  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

ignorance  is  bliss  ....  Friend  Adrian  !  Let  us  console 
ourselves  and  call  you  ignorantly  happy,  in  your  old 
crow's  nest.  You  have  not  stocked  it  so  badly  either. — 
For  all  your  ignorance  in  love,  you  have  a  pretty  taste  in 
liquor. 

So  thinking,  he  poured  himself  a  last  gla§s  of  his  host's 
wine,  vv'hich  he  held  for  a  moment  in  smiling  cogitation, 
looking,  with  the  mind's  eye,  through  the  thick  walls  of 
the  keep,  across  the  cold  mist-covered  sands  of  Scarthey 
and  again  through  the  warm  and  scented  air  of  a  certain 
room  (imagination  pictured)  where  Madeleine  must  at 
that  hour  lie  in  her  slumber.  After  a  moment  of  silent 
adoration  he  sent  a  rapturous  kiss  landwards  and  tossed 
his  glass  with  a  last  toast  : 

"Madeleine,  my  sweet !  To  your  softly  closed  lids." 
And  again  Captain  Jack  fell  to  telling  over  the  precious 
tale  of  that  morning's  interview,  furtively  secured,  by  that 
lover's  luck  he  so  dutifully  blessed,  under  the  cluster  of 
Scotch  firs  near  the  grey  and  crumbling  boundary  walls 
of  Pulwick  Park. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

"  LOVE  GILDS  THE  SCENE  AND  WOMAN  GUIDES 

THE   PLOT" 

Tanty's  wrath  upon  discovering-  Sir  Adrian's  departure 
was  all  the  greater  because  she  could  extort  no  real  ex- 
planation from  Rupert,  and  because  her  attacks  rebounded, 
as  it  were,  from  the  polished  surface  he  exposed  to  them 
on  every  side.  Madeleine's  indifference,  and  Molly's  ap- 
parently reckless  spirits,  further  discomposed  her  during 
supper ;  and  upon  the  latter  young  lady's  disappearance 
after  the  meal,  it  was  as  much  as  she  could  do  to  finish 
her  nightly  game  of  patience  before  mounting  to  seek  her 
with  the  purpose  of  relieving  her  overcharged  feelings, 
and  procuring  what  enlightenment  she  might. 

The  unwonted  spectacle  of  the  saucy  damsel  in  tears 
made  Miss  O'Donoghue  halt  upon  the  threshold,  the  hot 
wind  of  anger  upon  which  she  seemed  to  be  propelled 
into  the  room  falling  into  sudden  nothing-ness. 

There  could  be  no  mistake  about  it.  Molly  was  weep- 
ing ;  so  energetically  indeed,  with  such  a  passion  of  tears 
and  sobs,  that  the  noise  of  Tanty's  tumultuous  entrance 
fell  unheeded  upon  her  ears. 

All  her  sympathies  stirred  within  her,  the  old  lady 
advanced  to  the  girl  with  the  intention  of  gathering  her 
to  her  bosom.  But  as  she  drew  near,  the  black  and  white 
of  the  open  diary  attracted  her  eye  under  the  circle  of 
lamplight,  and  being  possessed  of  excellent  long  sight,  she 
thought  it  no  shame  to  utilise  the  same  across  her  grand- 
niece's  prostrate,  heaving  form,  before  making  known  her 
presence. 

"And  so  I  sit  and  cry!' 

Miss  Molly  was  carrying  out  her  programme  with  much 
precision,  if  indeed  her  attitude,  prone  along  the  table, 
could  be  described  as  sitting. 

211 


212  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

Miss  O'Donog^hue's  eyes  and  mouth  grew  round,  as 
with  the  expression  of  an  outraged  cockatoo  she  read  and 
re-read  the  tell-tale  phrases.  Here  was  a  complication 
she  had  not  calculated  upon. 

"  Dear,  dear,"  she  cried,  clacking  her  tongue  in  discon- 
solate fashion,  so  soon  as  she  could  get  her  breath. 
*'  What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  my  poor  girl .'  " 

Molly  leaped  to  her  feet,  and  turning  a  blazing,  dis- 
figured countenance  upon  her  relative,  exclaimed  with 
more  energy  than  politeness:  "Good  gracious,  aunt, 
what  do  you  want  ?  " 

Then  catching  sight  of  the  open  diary,  she  looked 
suspiciously  from  it  to  her  visitor,  and  closed  it  with  a 
hasty  hand.  But  Miss  O'Donoghue's  next  words  settled 
the  doubt. 

"Well,  to  be  sure,  what  a  state  you  have  put  yourself 
into, "  she  pursued  in  genuine  distress.  "  What  has  hap- 
pened then  between  you  and  that  fellow,  whom  I  de- 
clare I  begin  to  believe  as  crazy  as  Rupert  says,  that  you 
should  be  crying  your  eyes  out  over  his  going  back  to 
his  island? — you  that  I  thought  could  not  shed  a  tear  if 
you  tried.     Nothing  left  but  to  sit  and  cry,  indeed." 

' '  So  you  have  been  reading  my  diary,  you  mean  thing, " 
cried  Miss  Molly,  stamping  her  foot.  "  How  dare  you 
come  creeping  in  here,  spying  at  my  private  concerns  ! 
Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  "  with  unpremeditated  artfulness,  relapsing 
into  a  paroxysm  of  sobs  just  in  time  to  avert  the  volley 
of  rebuke  with  which  the  hot-tempered  old  lady  was 
about  to  greet  this  disrespectful  outburst.  "I  am  the 
most  miserable  girl  in  all  the  world.  I  wish  I  were  dead, 
I  do." 

Again  Tanty  opened  her  arms,  and  this  time  she  did 
draw  the  stormy  creature  to  a  bosom,  as  warm  and 
motherly  as  if  all  the  joys  of  womanhood  had  not  been 
withheld  from  it. 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,  my  poor  child."  There  was  a 
distinct  feeling  of  comfort  in  the  grasp  of  the  old  arms, 
comfort  in  the  very  ring  of  the  deep  voice.  Molly  was 
not  a  secretive  person  by  nature,  and  moreover  she  re- 
tained quite  enough  shrewdness,  even  in  her  unwonted 
break-down,  to  conjecture  that  with  Tanty  lay  her  sole 
hope  of  help.  So  rolling  her  dark  head  distractedly  on 
the  old  maid's  shoulder,   the  young  maid   narrated  her 


LOVE  GILDS  THE  SCENE  213 

tale  of  woe.  Pressed  by  a  pointed  question  here  and 
there,  Tanty  soon  collected  a  series  of  impressions  of 
Molly's  visit  to  Scarthey,  that  set  her  busy  mind  working 
upon  a  startlingly  new  line.  It  was  her  nature  to  jump 
at  conclusions,  and  it  was  not  strange  that  the  girl's 
passionate  display  of  grief  should  seem  to  be  the  un- 
mistakable outcome  of  tenderer  feelings  than  the  wounded 
pride  and  disappointment  which  were  in  reality  its  sole 
motors. 

"  I  am  convinced  it  is  Rupert  that  is  at  the  bottom  of 
it,"  cried  Molly  at  last,  springing  into  uprightness  again, 
and  clenching  her  hands.  "  His  one  idea  is  to  drive  his 
brother  permanently  from  his  own  home — and  he  hates 
me." 

Tanty  sat  rigid  with  thought. 

So  Molly  was  in  love  with  Sir  Adrian  Landale,  and  he 
— who  knows — was  in  love  with  her  too  ;  or  if  not  with 
her,  with  her  likeness  to  her  mother,  and  that  was  much 
the  same  thing  when  all  was  said  and  done.  Could  any- 
thing be  more  suitable,  more  fortunate  ?  Could  ever  two 
birds  be  killed  with  one  stone  with  more  complete  felicity 
than  in  this  settling  of  the  two  people  she  most  loved  upon 
earth }  Poor  pretty  Molly  I  The  old  lady's  heart  grew 
very  tender  over  the  girl  who  now  stood  half  sullenly, 
half  bashfully  averting  her  swollen  face  ;  five  days  ago 
she  had  not  known  her  handsome  cousin,  and  now  she 
was  breaking  her  heart  for  him. 

It  might  be,  indeed,  as  she  said,  that  they  had  to  thank 
Rupert  for  this — and  off  flew  Tanty's  mind  upon  another 
tangent.  Rupert  was  very  deep,  there  could  be  no  doubt 
of  that ;  he  was  anxious  enough  to  keep  Adrian  away 
from  them  all ;  what  would  it  be  then  when  it  came  to  a 
question  of  his  marriage  .? 

Tanty,  with  the  dehghtful  optimism  that  seventy  years' 
experience  had  failed  to  damp,  here  became  confident  of 
the  approach  of  her  younger  nephew's  complete  discom- 
fiture, and  in  the  cheering  contemplation  of  that  event 
chuckled  so  unctuously  that  Molly  looked  at  her  amazed. 

"It  is  well  for  you,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  lady,  rising 
and  wagging  her  head  with  an  air  of  enigmatic  resolution, 
*'that  you  have  got  an  aunt." 

Some  two  days  later,  Rend,  sitting  upon  a  ledge  of  the 


214  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

old  Scarthey  wall,  in  the  spare  sunshine  which  this  still, 
winter's  noon  shone  pearl-like  through  a  universal  mist, 
busy  mending  a  net,  to  the  tune  of  a  melancholy,  inward 
whistle,  heard  up  above  the  licking  of  the  waves  all 
around  him  and  the  whimper  of  the  seagulls  overhead, 
the  beat  of  steady  oars  approaching  from  land  side. 

Starting  to  his  feet,  the  little  man,  in  vague  expectation, 
ran  to  a  point  of  vantage  from  which  to  scan  the  tideway  ; 
after  a  few  seconds'  investigation  he  turned  tail,  dashed 
into  the  ruins,  up  the  steps,  and  burst  open  the  door  of 
the  sitting-room,  calling  upon  his  master  with  a  scared 
expression  of  astonishment. 

Captain  Jack,  poring  over  a  map,  his  pipe  sticking 
rakishly  out  of  one  side  of  his  mouth,  looked  up  amused 
at  the  Frenchman's  evident  excitement,  while  Adrian,  who 
had  been  busy  with  the  uppermost  row  of  books  upon  his 
west  wall,  looked  down  from  his  ladder  perch,  with  the 
pessimist's  constitutional  expectation  of  evil  growing  upon 
his  face. 

"One  comes  in  a  boat,"  ejaculated.  Rene,  "  and  I 
thought  I  ought  to  warn  his  honour,  if  his  honour  will  give 
himself  the  trouble  to  look  out." 

"  It  must  be  the  devil  to  frighten  Renny  in  this  fashion," 
muttered  Captain  Jack  as  distinctly  as  the  clench  of  his 
teeth  upon  the  pipe  would  allow  him.  Sir  Adrian  paled  a 
little,  he  began  to  descend  his  ladder,  mechanically  flick- 
ing the  dust  from  his  cuffs. 

"  Your  honour,"  said  Rend,  drawing  to  the  window  and 
looking  out  cautiously,  "I  have  not  yet  seen  her,  but  I 
believe  it  is  old  miss — the  aunt  of  your  honour  and  these 
ladies." 

Captain  Jack's  pipe  fell  from  his  dropping  jaw  and  was 
broken  into  many  fragments  as  he  leaped  to  his  feet  with 
an  elasticity  of  limb  and  a  richness  of  expletive  which  of 
themselves  would  have  betrayed  his  calling. 

Flinging  his  arm  across  one  of  Adrian's  shoulders  he 
peeped  across  the  other  out  of  the  window,  with  an  alarm 
half  mocking,  half  genuine. 

"  The  devil  it  is,  friend  Renny,"  he  cried,  drawing  back 
and  running  his  hands  with  an  exaggerated  gesture  of 
despair  through  his  brown  curls;  "Adrian,  all  is  lost 
unless  you  hide  me." 

"My  aunt  here,  and  alone,"  exclaimed  Adrian,  retreat- 


LOVE  GILDS  THE  SCENE  215 

ing  from  the  window  perturbed  enough  himself,  "I  must 
go  down  to  meet  her.  Pray  God  it  is  no  ill  news ! 
Hurry,  Renny,  clear  these  glasses  away." 

"  In  the  name  of  all  that's  sacred,  clear  me  away  first !  " 
interposed  Captain  Jack,  this  time  with  a  real  urgency  ; 
through  the  open  lattice  came  the  sound  of  the  grating  of 
the  boat's  keel  upon  the  sand  and  a  vigorous  hail  from 
a  masculine  throat — "Ahoy,  Renny  Potter,  ahoy!" 
"Adrian,  this  is  a  matter  of  life  and  death  to  my  hopes, 
hide  me  in  your  lowest  dungeon  for  goodness'  sake  ;  I  do 
not  know  my  way  about  your  ruins,  and  I  am  convinced 
the  old  lady  will  nose  me  out  like  a  badger," 

There  was  no  time  for  explanation  ;  Sir  Adrian  made  a 
sign  to  Rene,  who  highly  enjoying  the  situation  and 
grinning  from  ear  to  ear,  was  already  volunteering  to 
"well  hide  Mr.  the  Captain,"  and  the  pair  disappeared 
with  much  celerity  into  the  inner  room,  while  Adrian, 
unable  to  afford  himself  further  preparation,  hurried  down 
the  great  stairs  to  meet  this  unexpected  guest. 

He  emerged  bareheaded  into  the  curious  mist  which 
hung  pall-like  upon  the  outer  world,  and  seemed  to  com- 
bine the  opposite  elements  of  glare  and  dulness,  just  as 
Tanty,  aided  by  the  stalwart  arm  of  the  boatman,  who 
had  rowed  her  across,  succeeded  in  dragging  her  rheu- 
matic limbs  up  the  last  bit  of  ascent  to  the  door  of  the  keep. 

She  halted,  disengaged  herself,  and  puffing  and  blowing 
surveyed  her  nephew  with  a  stony  gaze. 

"My  dear  aunt,"  cried  Adrian,  "nothing  has  hap- 
pened, I  trust.''  " 

"Sufficient  has  already  happened,  nephew,  I  should 
hope,"  retorted  the  old  lady  with  extreme  dignity,  "suf- 
ficient to  make  me  desire  to  confer  with  you  most 
seriously.  I  thank  you,  young  man,"  turning  to  William 
Shearman  who  stood  on  one  side,  his  eager  gaze  upon 
"  the  master,"  ready  to  pull  his  forelock  so  soon  as  he 
could  catch  his  eye,  "be  here  again  in  an  hour,  if  you 
please." 

"But  you  will  allow  me  to  escort  you  myself,"  ex- 
claimed Adrian,  rising  to  the  situation,  "and  I  hope 
there  need  be  no  hurry  so  long  as  daylight  lasts — Good- 
morning,  Will,  I  am  glad  the  new  craft  is  a  success — you 
need  not  wait.  "Tanty,  take  my  arm,  I  beg,  the  steps 
are  steep  and  rough." 


2i6  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

Gripping  her  nephew's  arm  with  her  bony  old  woman's 
hand,  Miss  O'Donoghue  began  a  laborious  ascent,  paus- 
ing every  tive  steps  to  breathe  stertorously  and  reproach- 
fully, and  look  round  upon  the  sandstone  walls  with 
supreme  disdain  ;  but  this  was  nothing  to  the  air  with 
which,  when  at  last  installed  upon  a  high  hard  chair,  in 
the  sitting-room  (having  sternly  refused  the  easy  one  Sir 
Adrian  humbly  proffered),  she  deliberately  proceeded  to 
survey  the  scene.  In  truth,  the  neatness  that  usually 
characterised  Adrian's  surroundings  was  conspicuously 
absent  from  them,  just  then. 

Two  or  three  maps  lay  overlapping  each  other  upon  the 
table  beside  the  tray  with  its  flagon  of  amber  ale,  which 
had  formed  the  captain's  morning  draught  ;  and  the  soiled 
glass,  the  fragments  of  his  pipe,  and  its  half-burnt  con- 
tents lay  strewn  about  the  prostrate  chair  which  that 
lively  individual  had  upset  in  his  agitation.  Adrian's 
ladder,  the  books  he  had  been  handling  and  had  not  re- 
placed, the  white  ash  of  the  dying  fire,  all  contributed  to 
the  unwonted  aspect  of  somewhat  melancholy  disorder  ; 
worse  than  all,  the  fumes  of  the  strong  tobacco  which 
the  sailor  liked  to  smoke  in  his  secluded  moments  hung 
rank,  despite  the  open  window,  upon  the  absolute  motion- 
lessness  of  the  atmosphere. 

Tanty  snorted  and  sniffed,  while  Adrian,  after  picking 
up  the  chair,  began  to  almost  unconsciously  refold  the 
maps,  his  eyes  fixed  wonderingly  upon  his  visitor's  face. 

This  latter  delivered  herself  at  length  of  some  of  the 
indignation  that  was  choking  her,  in  abrupt  disjointed 
sentences,  as  if  she  were  uncorking  so  many  bottles, 

"Well  I'm  sure,  nephew,  I  am  not  surprised  at  your 
extraordinary  behaviour,  and  if  this  is  the  style  you  pre- 
fer to  live  in — style,  did  I  say  ? — sty  would  be  more 
appropriate.  Of  course  it  is  only  what  I  have  been  led 
to  expect,  but  I  must  say  I  was  ill  prepared  to  be  treated 
by  you  with  actual  disrespect.  My  sister's  child  and  I 
your  guest,  not  to  speak  of  your  aunt,  and  you  your 
mother's  son,  and  her  host  besides  !  It  is  a  slap  in  the  face, 
Adrian,  a  slap  in  the  face  which  has  been  a  very  bitter 
pill  to  have  to  swallow,  I  assure  you — I  may  say  without 
exaggeration,  in  fact,  that  it  has  cut  me  to  the  quick." 

"  But  surely,"  cried  the  nephew,  laughing  with  gentle 
indulgence  at  this  complicated  indictment,  "  surely  you 


LOVE  GILDS  THE  SCENE  217 

cannot  suppose  I  would  have  been  willingly  guilty  of  the 
smallest  disrespect  to  you.  I  am  a  most  unfortunate  man, 
most  unfortunately  situated,  and  if  I  have  offended,  it  is, 
you  must  believe,  unwittingly  and  unavoidably.  But  you 
got  my  letter — I  made  my  motives  clear  to  you." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  got  your  letter  yesterday,"  responded 
Tanty,  not  at  all  softened,  "  and  a  more  idiotic  produc- 
tion from  a  man  of  your  attainments,  allow  me  to  remark, 
I  never  read.  Adrian,  you  are  making  a  perfect  fool  of 
yourself,  andjyou  canjioi  afford  it  !  " 

"  I  fear  you  will  never  really  understand  my  position," 
murmured  Adrian  hopelessly. 

Tanty  rattled  her  large  green  umbrella  upon  the  floor 
with  a  violence  that  made  her  nephew  start,  then  turned 
upon  him  a  countenance  inflamed  with  righteous  anger. 

"  It  is  only  three  days  ago  since  I  gave  you  fully  my 
view  of  the  situation,"  she  remarked,  "you  were  good 
enough  at  the  time  to  admit  that  it  was  a  remarkably 
well-balanced  one.  I  should  be  glad  if  you  will  explain 
in  what  manner  your  position  could  have  changed  in  the 
space  of  just  three  hours  after,  to  lead  you  to  rush  back 
to  your  island,  really  as  if  you  were  a  mole  or  a  wild 
Indian,  or  some  other  strange  animal  that  could  not  bear 
civilised  society,  without  even  so  much  as  a  good-bye  to 
me,  or  to  your  cousins  either  ?  What  is  that  ? — you  say 
you  wrote — oh,  ay — you  wrote — to  Molly  as  well  as  to 
me  ;  rigmaroles,  my  dear  nephew,  mere  absurd  state- 
ments that  have  not  a  grain  of  truth  in  them,  that  do  not 
hold  water  for  an  instant.  You  are  not  made  for  the 
world  forsooth,  nor  the  world  for  you  !  and  if  that  is  not 
flying  in  the  face  of  your  Creator,  and  wanting  to  know 
better  than  Providence  ! — And  then  you  say,  '  you  cast  a 
gloom  by  your  mere  presence.'  Fiddle-de-dee  !  It  was 
not  much  in  the  way  of  gloom  that  Molly  brought  back 
with  her  from  her  three  days'  visit  to  you — or  if  that  is 
gloom — well,  the  more  your  presence  casts  of  it  the 
better— that  is  all  I  can  say.  Ah,  but  you  should  have 
seen  her,  poor  child,  after  you  went  away  in  that  heart- 
less manner  and  you  had  removed  yourself  and  your 
shadow,  and  your  precious  gloom — if  you  could  have  seen 
how  unhappy  she  has  been  !  " 

"  Good  God  !  "  exclaimed  the  man  with  a  paling  face, 
"  what  are  you  saying?  " 


2i8  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

' '  Only  the  truth,  sir— Molly  is  breaking  her  heart  because 
of  your  base  desertion  of  her," 

"  Good  God,"  muttered  Adrian  again,  rose  up  stiffly  in 
a  sort  of  horrified  astonishment  and  then  sat  down  again 
and  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead  like  a  man  striving 
to  awaken  from  a  painful  dream. 

"  Oh,  Adrian,  don't  be  more  of  a  fool  than  you  can  pos- 
sibly help  !  "  cried  his  relative,  exasperated  beyond  all  ex- 
pression by  his  inarticulate  distress.  "  You  are  so  busy 
contemplating  all  sorts  of  absurdities  miles  away  that  I 
verily  believe  you  cannot  see  an  inch  beyond  your  nose. 
My  gracious  !  what  is  there  to  be  so  astonished  at  ?  How- 
did  you  behave  to  the  poor  innocent  from  the  very  instant 
she  crossed  your  threshold  ?  Fact  is,  you  have  been  a 
regular  gay  Lothario.  Did  you  not  " — cried  Tanty,  start- 
ing again  upon  her  fine  vein  of  metaphor — "  did  you  not 
deliberately  hold  the  cup  of  love  to  those  young  lips  only 
to  nip  it  in  the  bud  .?  The  girl  is  not  a  stock  or  a  stone. 
You  are  a  handsome  man,  Adrian,  and  the  long  and  the 
short  of  it  is,  those  w^ho  play  with  fire  must  reap  as  they 
have  sown." 

Tanty,  who  had  been  holding  forth  with  the  rapidity  of 
a  loose  windmill  in  a  hurricane,  here  found  herself  forced 
to  pause  and  take  breath  :  which  she  did,  fanning  herself 
with  much  energy,  a  triumphant  consciousness  of  the 
unimpeachability  of  her  logic  written  upon  her  heated 
countenance.  But  Adrian  still  stared  at  her  with  the 
same  incredulous  dismay  ;  looking  indeed  as  little  like  a 
gay  Lothario  as  it  was  possible,  even  for  him. 

"  Do  you  mean,"  he  said  at  last,  in  slow  broken  sen- 
tences, as  his  mind  wrestled  with  the  strange  tidings  ; 
"  am  I  to  understand  that  Molly,  that  bright  beautiful 
creature,  has  been  made  unhappy  through  me  ?  Oh,  my 
dear  Tanty,"  striving  with  a  laugh,  "  the  idea  is  too 
absurd,  I  am  old  enough  to  be  her  father,  you  know — 
what  evidence  can  you  have  for  a  statement  so  distressing, 
so  extraordinary." 

"  I  am  not  quite  in  my  dotage  yet,"  quoth  Tanty,  drily  ; 
"  neither  am  I  in  the  habit  of  making  unfounded  asser- 
tions, nephew.  I  have  heard  what  the  girl  has  said  with 
her  own  lips,  I  have  read  what  she  has  written  in  her 
diary  ;  she  has  sobbed  and  cried  over  your  cruelty  in 
these  very  arms — I  don't  know  what  further  evidence " 


LOVE  GILDS  THE  SCENE  219 

But  Sir  Adrian  had  started  up  again — "Molly  crying, 
Molly  crying  for  me — God  help  us  all — Cecile's  child, 
whom  1  would  give  my  life  to  keep  from  trouble  !  Tanty, 
if  this  is  true — it  must  be  true  since  you  say  so,  I  hardly 
know  myself  what  I  am  saying — then  I  am  to  blame, 
deeply  to  blame — and  yet — I  have  not  said  one  word  to 
the  child — did  nothing  .  .  .  ."  here  he  paused  and  a  deep 
flush  overspread  his  face  to  the  roots  of  his  hair  ;  "except 
indeed  in  the  first  moment  of  her  arrival — when  she  came 
in  upon  me  as  I  was  lost  in  memories  of  the  past — like 
the  spirit  ofC^cile." 

"  Humph,"  said  Tanty,  pointedly,  "  but  then  you  see 
what  you  took  for  Cecile's  spirit  happened  to  be  Molly  in 
the  flesh."  She  fixed  her  sharp  eyes  upon  her  nephew, 
who,  struck  into  confusion  by  her  words,  seemed  for  the 
moment  unable  to  answer.  Then,  as  if  satisfied  with  the 
impression  produced,  she  folded  her  hands  over  the  um- 
brella handle  and  observed  in  more  placid  tones  than  she 
had  yet  used  : 

"  And  now  we  must  see  what  is  to  be  done." 

Adrian  began  to  pace  the  room  in  greater  perturbation. 

"  What  is  to  be  done.?"  he  repeated,  "  alas  !  what  can 
be  done  ?  Tanty,  you  will  believe  me  when  I  tell  you 
that  I  should  have  cut  off  my  right  hand  rather  than 
brought  this  thing  upon  the  child — but  she  is  very  young 
— the  impression,  thank  heaven,  cannot  in  the  nature  of 
things  endure.  She  will  meet  some  one  worthy  of  her — 
with  you,  Tanty,  kindest  of  hearts,  I  can  safely  trust  her 
future.  But  that  she  should  suffer  now,  and  through  me, 
that  bright  creature  who  flitted  in  upon  my  dark  life,  like 
some  heaven-sent  messenger — these  are  evil  tidings. 
Tanty,  you  must  take  her  away,  you  must  distract  her 
mind,  you  must  tell  her  what  a  poor  broken-down  being 
I  am,  how  little  worthy  of  her  sweet  thoughts,  and  she 
will  learn,  soon  learn,  to  forget  me,  to  laugh  at  herself." 

Although  addressing  the  old  lady,  he  spoke  like  a  man 
reasoning  with  himself,  and  the  words  dropped  from  his 
lips  as  if  drawn  from  a  very  well  of  bitterness.  Tanty 
listened  to  him  in  silence,  but  the  tension  of  her  whole 
frame  betrayed  that  she  was  only  gathering  her  forces  for 
another  explosion. 

When  Adrian's  voice  ceased  there  was  a  moment's  silence 
and  then  the  storm  burst ;  whisking  herself  out  other  chair. 


220  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

the  umbrella  came  into  play  once  more.  But  though  it 
was  only  to  thump  the  table,  it  was  evident  Miss  O'Don- 
oghue  would  more  willingly  have  laid  it  about  the  delin- 
quent's shoulders. 

"  Adrian,  are  you  a  man  at  all  ?  "  she  ejaculated  fiercely. 
Then  with  sudden  deadly  composure  :  "So  ihi's  is  the 
reparation  you  propose  to  make  for  the  mischief  you  have 
wrought  .■* " 

"  In  God's  name  !  "  cried  he,  goaded  at  length  into 
some  sort  of  despairing  anger  himself,  "  what  would  you 
have  me  do  .''  " 

The  answer  came  with  the  promptitude  of  a  return 
shot  : 

"  Do?  why  marry  her,  of  course  !  " 

"Marry  her!" 

There  was  a  breathless  pause.  Tanty,  leaning  forward 
across  the  table,  crimson,  agitated,  yet  triumphant  ; 
Adrian's  white  face  blasted  with  astonishment.  "Marry 
her,"  he  echoed  at  length  once  more,  in  a  whisper  this 
time.     Then  with  a  groan  :  "  This  is  madness  !  " 

Miss  O'Donoghue  caught  him  up  briskly.  "  IMadness.? 
My  good  fellow,  not  a  bit  of  it ;  on  the  contrary,  sanity, 
happiness,  prosperity. — Adrian,  don't  stand  staring  at  me 
like  a  stuck  pig  !  Why,  in  the  name  of  conscience, 
should  not  you  marry  ?  You  are  a  young  man  still — pooh, 
pooh,  what  is  forty  ! — you  are  a  very  fine-looking  man, 
clever,  romantic — hear  me  out,  sir,  please — a?idyou  have 
made  the  child  love  you.  There  you  are  again,  as  if  you 
had  a  pain  in  your  stomach  ;  you  would  try  the  patience 
of  Job  !  Why,  I  don't  believe  there  is  another  man  on 
earth  that  would  not  be  wild  with  joy  at  the  mere  thought 
of  having  gained  such  a  prize.  A  beautiful  creature,  with 
a  heart  of  gold  and  a  purse  of  gold  to  boot." 

"Oh,  heavens,  aunt!"  interrupted  the  man,  passion- 
ately, "leave  that  question  out  of  the  reckoning.  The 
one  thing,  the  only  thing,  to  consider  is  her  happiness. 
You  cannot  .make  me  believe  it  can  be  for  her  happiness 
that  she  should  marry  such  as  me." 

"  And  why  shouldn't  it  be  for  her  happiness  .'  "  answered 
the  dauntless  old  lady.  "Was  not  she  happy  enough 
with  you  here  in  this  God-forsaken  hole,  with  nothing  but 
the  tempest  besides  for  company  ?  Why  should  not  she 
be  happy,  then,  when  you  come  back  to  your  own  good 


LOVE  GILDS  THE  SCENE  221 

place  ?     Would  not  you  be  kind  to  her  ? — would  not  you 
cherish  her  if  she  were  your  wife  ?  " 

"Would  I  not  be  kind  to   her? — would   I  not  cherish 
her  ?— would  I  not ?     My  God  !  " 

"Why,  Adrian,"  cried  Tanty,  charmed  at  this  unex- 
pected disclosure  of  feeling  and  the  accent  with  which  it 
was  delivered,  '*  I  declare  you  are  as  much  in  love  with 
the  girl  as  she  is  with  you.  Why,  now  you  shall  just 
come  back  with  me  to  Pulwick  this  moment,  and  she  shall 
tell  you  herself  if  she  can  find  happiness  with  you  or  not. 
Oh — I  will  hear  no  more — your  own  heart,  your  feelings 
as  a  gentleman,  as  a  man  of  honour,  all  point,  my  dear 
nephew,  in  the  same  direction.  And  if  you  neglect  this 
warning  voice  you  will  be  blind  indeed  to  the  call  of 
duty.  Come  now,  come  back  to  your  home,  where  the 
sweetest  wife  ever  a  man  had  awaits  you.  And  when  I 
shall  see  the  children  spring  up  around  you,  Adrian,  then 
God  will  have  granted  my  last  wish,  and  I  shall  die  in 

peace There,  there,  I  am  an  old  fool,  but  when  the 

heart  is  over  full,  then  the  tears  fall.  Come,  Adrian,  come, 
I'll  say  no  more;  but  the  sight  of  the  poor  child  who  loves 
you  shall  plead  for  her  happiness  and  yours.  And  hark,  a 
word  in  your  ear  :  let  Rupert  bark  and  snarl  as  he  will ! 
And  what  sort  of  a  devil  is  it  your  generosity  has  made  of 
him  P  You  have  done  a  bad  day's  work  there  all  these 
years,  but,  please  God,  there  are  better  times  dawning  for 
us  all. — What  are  you  doing,  Adrian  ?  Oh  !  writing  a  few 
orders  to  your  servant  to  explain  your  departure  with  me 
— quite  right,  quite  right,  I  won't  speak  a  word  then  to 
interrupt  you.  Dear  me  !  I  really  feel  quite  in  spirits. 
Once  dear  Molly  and  you  settled,  there  will  be  a  happy 
home  for  Madeleine  :  with  you,  we  can  look  out  a  suitable 
husband  for  her.  Well,  well,  I  must  not  go  too  fast  yet, 
I  suppose  :  but  I  have  not  told  you  in  what  deep  anxiety 
I  have  been  on  her  account  by  reason  of  a  most  deplorable 
affair — a  foolish  girl's  fancy  only,  of  course,  with  a  most 
undesirable  and  objectionable  creature  called  6'wz///f.  .  .  . 
Oh  !  you  are  ready,  are  you  } — My  dear  Adrian,  give  me 
your  arm  then,  and  let  us  proceed." 

Silence  had  reigned  for  but  a  few  seconds  in  the  great 
room  of  the  keep  when  Captain  Jack  re-entered,  bearing 
on  his  face  an  expression  at  once  boyishly  jubilant  and 


222  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

mockingly  astonished.     He  planted  himself  in   front  of 
the  landward  window,  and  gazed  forth  a  while. 

"There  goes  my  old  Adrian,  as  dutifully  escorting  that 
walking  sack  of  bones,  that  tar-barrel  ornament — never 
mind,  old  lady,  from  this  moment  I  shall  love  you  for 
your  brave  deeds  of  this  morning — escorting  his  worthy 
aunt  as  dutifully  as  though  he  were  a  penniless  nephew .... 
Gently  over  the  gunnel,  madam  !  That's  done  !  So  you 
are  going  to  take  my  gig  ?  Right,  Adrian.  Dear  me, 
how  she  holds  forth  !  I  fancy  I  hear  her  from  here. — 
Give  way,  my  lads  !  That's  all  right.  Gad!  Old  Adrian's 
carried  off  on  a  regular  journey  to  Cythera,  under  a  proper 
escort !  " 

With  this  odd  reminiscence  of  early  mythological  read- 
ing, the  sailor  burst  into  a  loud  laugh  and  walked  about 
slapping  his  leg. 

"  Would  ever  any  one  have  guessed  anything  approach- 
ing this  ?  Star-gazing,  book-grubbing  Sir  Adrian  .... 
in  love  !  Adrian  the  solitary,  the  pessimist,  the  I-don't- 
know-what  superior  man,  in  love  !  Neither  more  nor  less  ! 
In  love,  like  an  every-day  inhabitant  of  these  realms,  and 
with  that  black-eyed  sister  of  mine  that  is  to  be  !  My 
word,  it's  too  perfect !  Adrian  my  brother-in-law — for  if 
I  gauge  that  fine  creature  properly — splendid  old  lady — 
she  won't  let  him  slide  back  this  time.  No,  my  dear 
Adrian,  you  are  hooked  for  matrimony  and  a  return  to  the 
living  world.  That  black-eyed  jade  too,  that  Molly  sister 
of  my  Madeleine,  will  wake  up  and  lead  you  a  life,  by 
George  !  .  .  .  .  Row  on,  my  lads,"  once  more  looking 
at  the  diminishing  black  spot  upon  the  grey  waters. 
"  Row  on — you  have  never  done  a  better  day's  work  !  " 

Rene,  entering  a  few  moments  later,  with  an  open  note 
in  his  hand,  found  his  master's  friend  still  chuckling,  and 
looked  at  him  inquisitively. 

"  His  honour  has  returned  to  Pulwick,"  said  he,  in 
puzzled  tones,  handing  the  missive. 

"Ay,  lad,"  answered  the  sailor,  cheerily.  "The  fact 
is,  my  good  Renny,  that  in  that  room  of  Sir  Adrian's  where 
you  ensconced  me  for  safety  from  that  most  wonderful 
specimen  of  her  sex  (I  refer  to  your  master's  worthy 
aunt),  it  was  impossible  to  avoid  overhearing  many  of 
her  remarks — magnificent  voice  for  a  storm  at  sea,  eh? 
Never  mind  what  it  was  all  about,  my  good  man  ;  what 


LOVE  GILDS  THE  SCENE  223 

I  heard  was  good  news.  Ah  !  "  directing  his  attention  to 
the  note  ;  "his  honour  does  not  say  when  he  will  return, 
but  will  send  back  the  gig  immediately  ;  and  you,  M. 
Potter,  are  to  look  after  me  for  as  long  as  I  choose  to  stop 
here." 

Ren^  required  no  reflection  to  realise  that  anything  in 
the  shape  of  good  news  which  took  his  master  back  to 
his  estate  must  be  good  news  indeed  ;  and  his  broad  face 
promptly  mirrored,  in  the  broadest  of  grins,  the  captain's 
own  satisfaction. 

"For  sure,  we  will  try  to  take  care  of  M.  the  captain, 
as  well  as  if  his  honour  himself  was  present.  He  told  me 
you  were  to  be  master  here." 

"Make  it  so.     I  should  like  some  dinner  as  soon  as 

possible,  and  one  of  my  bro of  Sir  Adrian's  best  bottles. 

It's  a  poor  heart  that  never  rejoices.  Meanwhile,  I  want 
to  inspect  your  ruins  and  your  caves  in  detail,  if  you  will 
pilot  me,  Renny.  This  is  a  handy  sort  of  an  old  Robin- 
son Crusoe  place  for  hiding  and  storing,  is  it  not  ? " 


CHAPTER  XIX 
A  JUNIOR'S  OPINION 

A  RARELY  failing  characteristic  of  very  warm-hearted 
and  strongly  impulsive  people  is  their  inability  of  gradu- 
ating their  likes  and  dislikes  ;  a  state  of  mind  which  can- 
not fail  to  lead  to  frequent  alterations  of  temper. 

On  more  than  one  occasion,  since  the  domineering  old 
lady  had  started  upon  her  peregrinations,  had  her  favour 
for  the  two  brothers  undergone  reversal ;  but  the  ground 
Rupert  gained  by  Adrian's  offences  was  never  of  safe 
tenure.  At  the  present  hour,  under  the  elation  of  her 
victorious  sally  upon  the  hermit's  pessimistic  entrench- 
ments— the  only  thing  in  him  of  which  she  disapproved — 
he  at  once  resumed  the  warm  place  she  liked  to  keep  for 
him  in  her  heart.  And  as  a  consequence  "Master  Ru- 
pert," as  she  contemptuously  called  the  "  locum  tenens 
Squire,"  who,  in  the  genealogical  order  of  things,  should 
have  been  a  person  of  small  importance,  fell  promptly 
into  his  original  state  of  disgrace. 

During  the  drive  from  the  village  (where  she  had 
ordered  the  carriage  to  await  her  return)  to  the  gates  of 
Pulwick,  Miss  O'Donoghue  entertained  her  companion 
with  an  indignant  account  of  his  brother's  ingratitude,  of 
his  hypocritical  insinuating  method  of  disparagement  of 
Sir  Adrian  himself,  winding  up  each  indictment  with 
a  shrewd,  "but  he  could  not  impose  upon  me"  which, 
indeed,  she  firmly  believed. 

Her  object  was,  of  course,  to  strengthen  the  baronet  in 
his  resolve  to  return  to  the  headship  of  his  family — little 
guessing  what  a  strong  incentive  to  seclusion  these  very 
tales  of  a  state  of  things  he  suspected  but  too  well  would 
have  proved,  had  it  not  been  for  the  new  unforeseen  mo- 
tive that  the  morning's  revelation  had  brought. 

"  Does  Molly  know  of  your  visit  to  me?  "  he  asked,  as 
the  carriage  halted   before  the  gate,  and  the  enormous, 

224 


A  JUNIOR'S  OPINION  225 

red-headed  Cumbrian  gatekeeper  with  his  rosy  Mog-gie, 
proudly  swung  it  open  to  stand  on  either  side,  the  one 
bowing  with  jubilant  greeting  and  the  other  curtseying 
with  bashful  smiles  at  the  real  master.  "  Does  she  expect 
my  visit  ?  "  relapsing  into  gravity  after  returning  the  salu- 
tation in  kindliness. 

"I  have  told  no  one  of  my  purpose  this  day.  Rupert 
walked  off  to  the  stables  immediately  after  breakfast — 
going  a-hunting  he  said  he  was,  and  offered  to  bear  the 
girls  to  the  meet.  And  then,  feeling  lonely  without  his 
company,"  added  Tanty,  M'ith  a  wink,  "I  ordered  the 
carriage  and  thought  I  would  go  and  have  a  peep  at  the 
place  where  poor  Molly  was  drowned,  just  for  a  little 
diversion.  Whether  the  little  rogue  expects  you  or  not, 
after  your  note  of  the  other  day,  I  am  sure  I  could  not 
take  upon  myself  to  say.  She  sits  watching  that  crazy 
old  tower  of  yours  by  day  and  your  light  by  night. 
Well,  well,  I  must  not  tell  tales  out  of  school,  you 
may  find  out  for  yourself.  But  mind  you,  Adrian," 
she  impressed  on  him,  sagely,  "it  is  not  I  who  bring 
you  back  :  you  return  of  your  own  accord.  The  child 
would  murder  me,  if  she  knew — with  that  proud  heart 
of  hers." 

"My  dear  Tanty,  trust  me.  This  incomprehensible 
discovery  of  yours,  which  I  cannot  yet  believe  in,  really 
is,  so  far  as  my  discretion  is  concerned,  as  if  I  had  never 
heard  of  it.  Heavens  !  I  have  been  a  blundering  fool, 
but  I  could  not  insult  her  with  a  hint  of  it  for  the  world. 
I  have  come  to  see  Rupert  to-day,  as  usual,  of  course — 
and,  as  you  say  ....  I  shall  see  for  myself.  You  have 
opened  my  eyes." 

Miss  O'Donoghue  looked  at  her  nephew  with  admiration. 
"  Voyez  U7i pen,"  she  said,  "  conime  V amour  vous  degourdit 
even  a  doleful  Sir  Adrian  !  Faith,  here  we  are.  This  has 
been  a  pleasant  ride,  but  my  old  bones  are  so  tired,  and 
you  and  yours  have  set  them  jogging  so  much  of  late, 
that  I  think  I'll  never  want  to  stir  a  foot  again  once  I  get 
back  to  Bunratty  ....  except  indeed  to  come  and  be 
godmother  to  the  heir." 

Having  lent  a  dutiful  arm  up  the  stairs  to  his  now- 
beaming  relative.  Sir  Adrian  came  down  pensively  and 
entered  the  library. 

There,  booted  and  spurred,  but  quietly  installed  at  a 

15 


226  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

writing  table,  sat  Mr.  Landale,  who  rose  in  his  nonchalant 
manner  and  with  cold  looks  met  his  brother. 

There  was  no  greeting  between  them,  but  simply  thus  : 

"I  understood  from  Aunt  Rose  you  were  out  hunt- 
ing." 

"Such  was  my  intention,  but  when  I  found  out  that 
she  had  gone  to  see  you — don't  look  so  astonished,  Adrian 
— a  man  must  know  what  is  going  on  in  his  household — 
I  suspected  you  would  escort  her  back  ;  so  I  desisted  and 
waited  for  you.  It  is  an  unexpected  pleasure  to  see  you, 
for  I  thought  we  had  sufficiently  discussed  all  business, 
recently.  But  doubtless  you  will  profit  of  the  opportu- 
nity to  go  into  a  few  matters  which  want  your  attention. 
Do  you  mean  to  remain  .''  " 

Speaking  these  words  in  a  detached  manner,  Mr.  Lan- 
dale kept  a  keenly  observant  look  upon  his  brother's 
countenance.  In  a  most  unwonted  way  the  tone  and 
the  look  irritated  Sir  Adrian, 

"  I  came  back,  Rupert,  because  there  were  some  things 
I  wished  to  see  for  myself  here,"  he  answered  frigidly. 
And  going  to  the  bell,  rang  it  vigorously. 

On  the  servant's  appearance,  without  reference  to  his 
brother,  he  himself,  and  very  shortly,  gave  orders  : 

"  I  shall  dine  here  to-day.  Have  the  tapestry-room 
made  ready  for  me." 

Then  turning  to  Rupert,  whose  face  betrayed  some  of 
the  astonishment  aroused  by  this  most  unusual  assump- 
tion of  authority,  and  resuming  as  it  were  the  thread  of 
his  speech,  he  went  on  : 

"No,  Rupert,  I  have  no  desire  to  talk  business  with 
you.  It  is  a  pity  you  should  have  given  up  your  day. 
Is  it  yet  too  late?  " 

"Upon  my  word,  Adrian,"  said  Mr.  Landale,  clench- 
ing his  hand  nervously  round  his  fine  cambric  handker- 
chief, "there  must  be  something  of  importance  in  the 
wind  to  have  altered  your  bearing  towards  me  to  this 
extent.  I  have  no  wish  to  interfere.  I  came  back  and 
gave  up  good  company  for  the  reason  I  have  stated.  I 
will  now  only  point  out  that,  with  your  sudden  whims, 
you  render  my  position  excessively  false  in  a  house 
where,  at  your  own  wish,  I  am  ostensibly  established  as 
master." 

And  without  waiting  for  another  word,   the  younger 


A  JUNIOR'S  OPINION  227 

brother,  having  shot  the  arrow  which  hitherto  never 
failed  to  reach  the  bull's-eye  of  the  situation,  left  the 
room  with  much  dignity. 

Once  more  alone,  Sir  Adrian,  standing  motionless  in 
the  great  room,  darkened  yet  more  in  the  winter  light  by 
the  heavy  festoons  of  curtains  that  hung  over  the  numer- 
ous empty  bookshelves,  the  souls  of  which  had  migrated 
to  the  peel  to  keep  the  master  company,  cogitated  upon 
this  first  unpleasant  step  in  his  new  departure,  and  won- 
dered within  himself  why  he  had  felt  so  extraordmarily 
moved  by  anger  to-day  at  the  cold  inquisitiveness  of  his 
brother.  No  doubt  the  sense  of  being  watched  thus,  held 
away  at  arm's-length  as  it  were,  was  cause  sufficient. 
And  yet  that  was  not  it  ;  ingratitude  alone,  even  to  enmity, 
in  return  for  benefits  forgot  could  not  rouse  this  bitterness. 
But  had  it  not  been  for  Tanty's  interference  he  would  be 
now  exiled  from  his  home  until  the  departure  of  Cecile's 
child,  just  as,  but  for  chance,  he  would  have  been  kept 
in  actual  ignorance  of  her  arrival.  It  was  his  brother's 
doing  that  he  had  blindly  withdrawn  himself  when  his 
presence  would  have  caused  happiness  to  her.  Yes,  that 
was  it.  Rupert  had  a  scheme.  That  was  what  dwelt  in 
his  eyes, — a  scheme  which  would  bring,  indeed  did  bring, 
unhappiness  to  that  dear  guest.  .  .  .  No  wonder,  now, 
that  the  unconscious  realisation  of  it  awoke  all  the  man's 
blood  in  him. 

"  No,  Rupert,"  Sir  Adrian  found  himself  saying  aloud, 
"I  let  you  reign  at  Pulwick  so  long  as  you  crossed  not 
one  jot  of  such  pleasure  and  happiness  that  might  belong 
to  Cecile's  child.  But  here  our  wills  clash  ;  and  now, 
since  there  cannot  be  two  masters  in  a  house  as  you  say, 
/  am  the  master  here." 

As  Sir  Adrian's  mind  was  seething  in  this  unusual 
mood.  Miss  O'Donoghue,  entering  her  nieces'  room, 
found  Molly  perched,  in  riding  dress,  on  the  window-sill, 
looking  forth  upon  the  outer  world  with  dissatisfied  coun- 
tenance. 

Mr.  Landale  had  sent  word  at  the  last  moment  that, 
to  his  intense  regret,  he  could  not  escort  the  ladies  to 
the  meet,  some  important  business  having  retained  him 
at  Pulwick. 

So  much  did  Miss  Molly  pettishly  explain  in  answer 


228  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

to  the  affectionate  inquiry  concerning  the  cloud  on  her 
brow,  slashing  her  whip  the  while  and  pouting,  and  gen- 
erally out  of  harmony  with  the  special  radiance  of  the 
old  lady's  eye  and  the  more  than  usual  expansiveness  of 
the  embrace  which  was  bestowed  upon  her. 

"Tut,  tut,  tut,  now,"  observed  the  artful  person  in 
tones  of  deep  commiseration.  "Ah  well,  Rupert's  a  poor 
creature  which  ever  side  he  turns  up.  Will  you  go  now, 
my  child,  and  fetch  me  the  letters  I  left  on  the  drawing- 
room  table  ?  Isn't  it  like  me  to  spend  half  the  morning 
writing  them  and  leave  them  down  there  after  all  !" 

Molly  rose  unwillingly,  threw  her  whip  on  the  bed, 
her  hat  on  the  floor ;  and  mistily  concerned  over  Tanty's 
air  of  irrepressible  and  pleasurable  excitement,  walked 
out  of  the  room,  bestowing  as  she  passed  her  long  pier 
glass  a  moody  glance  at  her  own  glowering  beauty. 

"What's  the  use  of  j^ou  P"  she  muttered  to  herself, 
"Anybody  can  fetch  and  carry  for  old  aunts  and  look 
out  of  windows  on  leafless  trees  !  " 

The  way  to  the  drawing-room  was  through  the  library. 
As  Molly,  immersed  in  her  reflections,  passed  along  this 
room,  she  stopped  with  a  violent  start  on  perceiving  the 
figure  of  Sir  Adrian,  a  tall  silhouette  against  the  cold  light 
of  the  window.  As  she  came  upon  him,  her  face  was 
fully  illumined,  and  there  was  a  glorious  tale-telling  in 
the  widening  of  her  eyes  and  the  warm  flush  that  mounted 
to  her  cheek  that  on  the  instant  scattered  in  the  man's 
mind  all  wondering  doubts.  A  rush  of  tenderness  filled 
him  at  one  sweep,  head  and  heart,  to  the  core. 

"  Molly  !"  he  cried,  panting;  and  then  with  halting 
voice  as  she  advanced  a  pace  and  stood  with  mouth 
parted  and  brilliant  expectant  eyes  :  "You  took  away  all 
light  and  warmth  with  you  when  you  left  my  lonely 
dwelling.     I  tried  to  take  up  my  life  there,  but " 

"  But  you  have  come  back — for  me? "  And  drawn  by 
his  extended  hands  she  advanced,  her  burning  gaze  fixed 
upon  his. 

"  I  dared  not  think  of  seeing  you  again,"  he  murmured, 
clasping  her  hands  ;  "  yet  my  return  ....  pleases  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Thus  was  crowned  this  strange  wooing,  was  clenched 
a  life's  union,  based  upon  either  side  on  fascinating  un- 
realities. 


A  JUNIOR'S  OPINION  229 

She  was  drawn  into  his  arms  ;  and  against  his  heart 
she  lay,  shaking  with  little  shivers  of  delight,  looking  into 
the  noble  face  bent  so  lovingly  over  hers,  her  mind  float- 
ing between  unconscious  exultation  and  languorous  joy. 

For  a  long  while  without  a  word  he  held  her  thus  on 
his  strong  arm,  gazing  with  a  rending  conflict  of  rapture 
and  anguish  on  the  beautiful  image  of  his  life's  love,  until 
his  eyes  were  dimmed  with  rising  tears.  Then  he  slowly 
stooped  over  the  upturned  face,  and  as  she  dropped  her 
lids  with  a  faint  smile,  kissed  her  lips. 

There  came  a  warning  rattle  at  the  door  handle,  and 
Molly,  disengaging  herself  softly  from  her  betrothed's 
embrace,  but  still  retaining  his  arm,  turned  to  witness  the 
entrance  of  Miss  O'Donoghue  and  Mr.  Landale. 

On  the  former's  face,  under  a  feigned  expression  of  sur- 
prise, now  expanded  itself  in  effulgence  the  plenitude  of 
that  satisfaction  which  had  been  dawning  there  ever  since 
her  return  from  the  island. 

Rupert  held  himself  well  in  hand.  He  halted,  it  is  true, 
for  an  instant  at  the  first  sight  of  Sir  Adrian  and  Molly, 
and  put  his  handkerchief  furtively  to  his  forehead  to  wipe 
the  sudden  cold  sweat  which  broke  out  upon  it.  But  the 
hesitation  was  so  momentary  as  to  pass  unperceived  ; 
and  if  his  countenance,  as  he  advanced  again,  bore  an 
expression  of  disapproval,  it  was  at  once  dignified  and 
restrained. 

"So  you  are  there,  Molly,"  exclaimed  the  old  lady  with 
inimitable  airiness.  "  Just  imagine,  my  dear,  I  had  those 
letters  in  my  pocket  all  the  while,  after  all.  You  did  not 
find  them,  did  you  .-*  " 

But  Adrian,  still  retaining  the  little  hand  on  his  arm, 
came  forward  slowly  and  broke  through  the  incipient  flow. 

"Aunt  Rose,"  said  he  in  a  voice  still  veiled  by  emotion, 
"I  know  your  kind  heart  will  rejoice  with  me,  although 
you  may  not  be  so  surprised,  as  no  doubt  Rupert  will  be, 
at  the  news  we  have  for  you,  Molly  and  I." 

"You  are  right,  Adrian,"  interrupted  Rupert  gravely, 
"to  any  who  know  your  life  and  your  past  as  I  do,  the 
news  you  seem  to  have  for  us  must  seem  strange  indeed. 
So  strange  that  you  will  excuse  me  if  I  withhold  congrat- 
ulations. For,  if  I  mistake  not,"  he  added,  with  a  deli- 
cately shaded  change  of  tone  to  sympathetic  courtesy, 
and  slightly  turning  his  handsome  face  towards  Molly, 


230  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

"  I  assume  that  my  fair  cousin  de  Savenayehas  even  but 
now  promised  to  be  my  sister,  Lady  Landale. " 

Sir  Adrian  who,  softened  by  the  emotion  of  this  won- 
derful hour,  had  made  a  movement  to  grasp  his  brother's 
hand,  but  had  checked  himself  with  a  passionate  move- 
ment of  anger,  instantly  restrained,  as  the  overt  imperti- 
nence of  the  first  words  fell  on  his  ears,  here  looked  with 
a  shadowing  anxiety  at  the  girl's  face. 

But  Molly,  who  could  never  withhold  the  lash  of  her 
tongue  when  Rupert  gave  the  slightest  opening,  imme- 
diately acknowledged  her  enemy's  courtly  bow  with 
sauciness. 

"  What !  No  congratulations  from  the  model  brother? 
Not  even  a  word  of  thanks  to  Molly  de  Savenaye  for 
bringing  the  truant  to  his  home  at  last  ?  But  you  malign 
yourself,  my  dear  Rupert.  I  believe  'tis  but  excess  of  joy 
that  ties  your  tongue." 

With  gleaming  smile  Mr.  Landale  would  have  opposed 
this  direct  thrust  by  some  parry  of  polished  insult ;  but 
he  met  his  elder's  commanding  glance,  remembered  his 
parting  words  on  two  previous  occasions,  and  wisely 
abstained,  contenting  himself  with  another  slight  bow 
and  a  contemptuous  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

At  the  same  time  Miss  O'Donoghue,  with  an  odd  mix- 
ture of  farcically  pretended  astonishment  and  genuine 
triumph,  fell  on  the  girl's  neck. 

"  It  is  possible,  soul  of  my  heart,  my  sweet  child — I 
can't  believe  it — though  I  vow  I  knew  it  all  along  !  So  I 
am  to  see  my  two  favourites  made  one  by  holy  matri- 
mony !  "  punctuating  her  exclamation  with  kisses  on  the 
fair  young  face,  and  wildly  seeking  in  space  with  her 
dried-up  old  fingers  to  meet  Adrian's  hand.  "  I,  the  one 
barren  stock  of  the  O'Donoghues,  shall  see  my  sister's 
children  re-united.  Ah,  Adrian,  what  a  beautiful  coat  this 
will  make  for  you  to  hand  to  your  children  !  O'Donoghue, 
Landale,  Kermel^gan,  Savenaye — eighteen  quarters  with 
this  heiress  alone,  Adrian  child,  for  the  descendants  of 
Landale  of  Pulwick  !  "  And  Miss  O'Donoghue,  over- 
come by  this  culminating  vision  of  happiness  and  perfec- 
tion, fairly  burst  into  tears. 

In  the  midst  of  this  scene,  Mr.  Landale,  after  listening 
mockingly  for  a  few  instants,  retired  with  ostentatious 
discretion. 


A  JUNIOR'S  OPINION.  231 

Later  in  the  day,  as  Madeleine  bent  her  pretty  ears, 
dutifully  yet  with  wandering  attention,  to  Molly's  gay 
prognostications  concerning  Pulwick  under  her  sway  ; 
whilst  the  servants  in  the  hall,  pantry  and  kitchen  dis- 
cussed the  great  news  which,  by  some  incomprehensible 
agency,  spread  with  torrent-like  swiftness  through  the 
whole  estate  ;  while  Miss  O'Donoghue  was  feverishly 
busy  with  the  correspondence  which  was  to  disseminate 
far  and  wide  the  world's  knowledge  of  the  happy  be- 
trothal, Sir  Adrian  met  his  brother  walking  meditatively 
along  the  winding  path  of  the  garden,  flicking  with  the 
loop  of  his  crop  the  border  of  evergreens  as  he  went. 
From  their  room,  Molly  and  Madeleine,  ensconced  in  the 
deep  window-seat,  could  see  the  meeting. 

"  How  I  should  like  to  hear,"  said  Molly.  "I  know 
this  supple  wretch  will  be  full  of  Adrian's  folly  in  marry- 
ing me — first,  because,  from  the  Rupertian  point  of  view, 
it  is  a  disastrous  thing  that  his  elder  should  marry  at  all ; 
and  secondly,  because  Molly,  mistress  at  Pulwick  Priory, 
means  a  very  queer  position  indeed  for  Mr.  Rupert 
Landale.  How  I  wish  my  spirit  could  fly  into  Adrian's 
head  just  for  a  moment !  Adrian  is  too  indulgent.  It 
requires  a  Molly  to  deal  with  such  impertinence." 

"Indeed  you  are  unjust  with  our  cousin,"  said  Made- 
leine, gently.      "  Why  this  hatred  ?    I  cannot  understand. " 

"No,  of  course  not,  Madeleine.  Rupert  is  charming 
— with  you.  I  am  not  blind.  But  take  care  he  does  not 
find  outjyour  secret,  miss.  Oh,  I  don't  ask  you  any  more 
about  it.     But  if  he  ever  does — gare,  ma  chere." 

But  at  the  present  juncture,  Molly's  estimate  of  Sir 
Adrian's  mood  was  mistaken.  His  love  of  peace,  which 
amounted  to  a  well-known  weakness  where  he  alone  was 
concerned,  weighed  not  a  feather  in  the  balance  when 
such  an  interest  as  that  now  engaged  was  at  stake. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Rupert  Landale  was  to  be  taken 
by  surprise  again,  that  day,  and  again  not  pleasantly. 
On  noticing  his  brother's  approach,  he  stopped  his  angry 
flickings,  and  slowly  moved  to  meet  him.  At  first  they 
walked  side  by  side  in  silence.  Presently  Sir  Adrian 
began : 

"Rupert,"  he  said  gravely,  "  after  our  first  interview 
to-day,  it  was  my  intention  to  have  begged  your  pardon 
for  a  certain  roughness  in  my  manner  which  I  should 


232  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

have  controlled  and  which  you  resented.  I  would  have 
done  so,  had  you  allowed  me,  at  that  moment  when  I 
announced  my  forthcoming  marriage  and  my  heart  was 
full  of  good-will  to  all,  especially  to  you.  Now,  on  the 
contrary,  to  re-establish  at  least  that  outward  harmony 
without  which  life  in  common  would  be  impossible,  I 
expect  from  you  some  expression  of  regret  for  your  be- 
haviour." 

The  first  part  of  his  brother's  say  was  so  well  in  ac- 
cordance with  his  more  habitual  mood,  that  Mr.  Landale 
had  already  sketched  his  equally  habitual  deprecating 
smile  ;  but  the  conclusion  changed  the  entire  standpoint 
of  their  relations. 

"An  expression  of  regret — from  nie?"  cried  he,  exag- 
gerating his  astonishment  almost  to  mockery. 

"  From  any  one  but  my  brother."  said  Adrian,  with  a 
slight  but  perceptible  hardening  in  his  tone,  "  I  should  say 
an  apology  for  an  impertinence." 

Mr.  Landale,  now  genuinely  taken  aback,  turned  a  little 
pale  and  halted  abruptly. 

"Adrian,  Adrian  !  "  he  retorted,  quickly.  "This  is  one 
of  your  mad  moments.      I  do  not  understand." 

"No,  brother,  I  am  not  mad,  and  never  have  been, 
dearly  as  you  would  wish  me  to  be  so  in  reality — since 
Death  would  have  none  of  me.  But  though  you  know 
this  yourself  but  too  well,  you  have  never  understood  me 
really.  Now  listen — once  for  all.  Try  and  see  our  posi- 
tions as  they  are  :  perhaps  then  matters  will  go  more 
pleasantly  in  the  future  for  you  as  well  as  for  me." 

Mr.  Landale  looked  keenly  at  the  speaker's  face  for  a 
second,  and  then  without  a  word  resumed  his  walk,  while 
Sir  Adrian  by  his  side  pursued  with  quiet  emphasis  : 

"  When  I  returned,  from  the  other  world  so  to  speak, 
at  least  from  your  point  of  view  (one  which  I  fully  un- 
derstood), I  found  that  this  very  return  was  nothing 
short  of  a  calamity  for  all'  that  remained  of  my  kin.  I 
had  it  in  my  power  to  reduce  that  misfortune  to  a  great 
extent.  You  loved  the  position — that  worldly  estimation, 
that  fortune,  all  those  circumstances  which,  with  perfect 
moral  right,  you  had  hitherto  enjoyed.  They  presented 
little  attraction  to  me.  Moreover,  there  were  many 
reasons,  which  I  am  quite  aware  you  know,  that  made 
this  very  house  of  mine  a  dismal  dwelling  for  me.     You 


A  JUNIOR'S  OPINION  233 

see  I  have  no  wish  to  give  too  generous  a  colour  to  my 
motives,  too  self-denying-  a  character  to  the  benefits  I 
conferred  upon  you.  But,  as  far  as  you  are  concerned, 
they  were  benefits.  For  them  I  received  no  gratitude  ; 
but  as  I  did  not  expect  gratitude  it  matters  little.  I 
might,  however,  have  expected  at  least  that  you  should 

be  neutral,  not  directly  hostile  to  me Pray  let  me 

finish"  (in  anticipation  of  a  rising  interruption  from  his 
companion),  "I  shall  soon  have  done,  and  you  will  see 
that  I  am  not  merely  recriminating.  Hostile  you  have 
been,  and  are  now.  So  long  as  the  position  you  as- 
sumed towards  me  only  bore  on  our  own  relations,  I  ac- 
quiesced :  you  had  so  much  more  to  lose  than  I  could 
gain  by  resenting  your  hidden  antagonism.  I  held  you, 
so  to  speak,  in  the  hollow  of  my  hand  ;  I  could  afford  to 
pass  over  it  all.  Moreover,  I  had  chosen  my  own  path, 
which  was  nothing  if  not  peaceful.  I  say,  you  always 
were  hostile  to  me  ;  you  have  been  so,  more  than  ever 
since  the  arrival  of  Cecile  de  Savenaye's  children.  You 
were,  however,  grievously  mistaken  if  you  thought — 
I  verily  believe  you  did — that  I  did  not  realise  the  true 
motives  that  prompted  you  to  keep  me  away  from  them. 
— I  loved  them  as  their  mother's  children  ;  I  love  Molly 
with  a  sort  of  love  I  myself  do  not  understand,  but  deep 
enough  for  all  its  strangeness.  Yet  I  submitted  to  your 
reasoning,  to  your  plausible  representations  of  the  disas- 
trous effects  of  my  presence.  I  went  back  to  my  solitude 
because  it  never  entered  my  mind  that  it  could  be  in  my 
power  to  help  their  happiness  ;  you  indeed  had  actually 
persuaded  me  of  the  contrary,  as  you  know,  and  I  myself 
thought  it  better  to  break  the  unfortunate  spell  that  was 
cast  on  me.  Unfortunate  I  thought  it,  but  it  has  proved 
far  otherwise." 

They  had  reached  the  end  of  the  alley,  and  as  they 
turned  back,  facing  each  other  for  a  moment.  Sir  Adrian 
noticed  the  evil  smile  playing  upon  his  brother's  lips. 

"It  has  proved  otherwise,"  he  repeated.  "How  I 
came  to  change  my  views,  I  daresay  you  have  guessed, 
for  you  have,  of  late,  kept  a  good  watch  on  your  mad 
brother,  Rupert.  At  any  rate  you  know  what  has  come 
to  pass.  Now  I  desire  you  to  understand  this  clearly — 
interference  with  me  as  matters  stand  means  interference 
with  Molly  :  and  as  such  I  must,  and  shall,  resent  it." 


234  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

• 

"Well,  Adrian,  and  what  have  I  done  now  ?  "  was  Mr. 
Landale's  quiet  reply.  He  turned  a  gravely  attentive, 
innocently  injured  countenance  to  the  paling  light. 

"  When  I  said  you  did  not  understand  me,"  returned 
Sir  Adrian  with  undiminished  firmness;  "when  I  said 
you  owed  me  some  expression  of  regret,  it  was  to  warn 
you  never  again  to  assume  the  tone  of  insinuation  and 
sarcasm  to  me,  which  you  permitted  yourself  to-day  in 
the  presence  of  Molly.  You  could  not  restrain  this  long 
habit  of  censuring,  of  unwarrantable  and  impertinent 
criticism,  of  your  elder,  and  when  you  referred  to  my 
past,  Molly  could  not  but  be  offended  by  the  mockery  of 
your  tones.  Moreover,  you  took  upon  yourself,  if  I 
have  heard  aright,  to  disapprove  openly  of  our  marriage. 
Upon  what  ground  that  would  bear  announcing  I  know 
not,  but  let  this  be  enough  :  try  and  realise  that  our  re- 
spective positions  are  totally  changed  by  this  unforeseen 
event,  and  that,  as  Molly  is  now  to  be  mistress  at  Pul- 
wick,  I  must  of  course  revoke  my  tacit  abdication.  Never- 
theless, if  you  think  you  can  put  up  with  the  new  state 
of  things,  there  need  be  little  alteration  in  your  present 
mode  of  life,  my  dear  Rupert  ;  if  you  will  only  make  a 
generous  efifort  to  alter  your  line  of  conduct." 

And  here,  Sir  Adrian,  succumbing  for  a  moment  to  the 
fault,  so  common  to  kindly  minds,  of  discounting  the 
virtue  of  occasional  firmness  by  a  sudden  return  to 
geniality,  offered  his  hand  in  token  of  peace. 

Mr.  Landale  took  it ;  his  grasp,  however,  was  limp 
and  cold. 

"  I  am  quite  ready  to  express  regret,"  he  said  in  a  tone- 
less voice,  "since  that  would  seem  to  be  gratification  to 
you,  and  moreover  seems  to  be  the  tacit  condition  on 
which  you  will  refrain  from  turning  me  out.  I  ought  in- 
deed to  have  abstained  from  referring,  however  vaguely, 
to  past  events,  for  the  plain  reason  that  anything  I  could 
say  would  already  have  come  too  late  to  prevent  the 
grievous  deed  you  have  now  pledged  yourself  to  commit." 

"  Rupert — !  "  exclaimed  Sir  Adrian  stepping  back  a  pace, 
too  amazed,  at  the  instant,  for  indignation. 

"  Now,  in  your  turn,  hear  me,  Adrian,"  continued  Mr. 
Landale  with  his  blackest  look.  "  I  have  listened  to  your 
summing  up  of  our  respective  cases  with  perfect  patience, 
notwithstanding  a  certain  assumption  of  superiority  which 


A  JUNIOR'S  OPINION  235 

— allow  me  to  insist  on  this — is  somewhat  ridiculous  from 
you  to  me.  You  complain  of  my  misunderstanding  you. 
Briefly,  this  is  absurd.  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  understand 
you  better  than  you  do  yourself.  On  the  other  hand  it 
is  you  that  do  not  understand  me.  I  have  no  wish  to 
paraphrase  your  little  homily  of  two  minutes  ago,  but 
the  heads  of  my  refutation  are  inevitably  suggested  by 
the  points  of  your  indictment.  To  use  your  own  manner 
of  speech,  my  dear  Adrian,  I  have  no  wish  to  assume  in- 
jured disinterestedness,  when  speaking  of  my  doings  with 
regard  to  you  and  your  belongings  and  especially  to  this 
old  place  of  yours,  of  our  family.  You  have  only  to  look 
and  see  for  yourself.  ..." 

Mr.  Landale  made  a  wide  comprehensive  gesture  which 
seemed  to  embrace  the  whole  of  the  noble  estate,  the  ad- 
mirably kept  mansion  with  walls  now  flushed  in  the  light 
of  the  sinking  sun,  the  orderly  maintenance  of  the  vast 
grounds,  the  prosperousness  of  its  dependencies — all  in 
fact  that  the  brothers  could  see  with  the  eyes  of  the  body 
from  where  they  stood,  and  all  that  they  could  see  with 
the  eyes  of  the  mind  alone  :  "Go  and  verify  whether  I 
fulfilled  my  duty  with  respect  to  the  trust  which  was  yours, 
but  which  you  have  allowed  to  devolve  upon  my  shoulders, 
and  ask  yourself  whether  you  would  have  fulfilled  it  bet- 
ter— if  as  well.  I  claim  no  more  than  this  recognition  ; 
for,  as  you  pointed  out,  the  position  carried  its  advan- 
tages, if  it  entailed  arduous  responsibility  too.  It  was  my 
hope  that  heirs  of  my  body  would  live  to  perpetuate  this 
pride — this  work  of  mine.  It  was  not  to  be.  Now  that 
you  step  in  again  and  that  possibly  your  flesh  will  reap 
the  benefits  I  have  laboured  to  produce,  ask  yourself, 
Adrian,  whether  you,  who  shirked  your  own  natural 
duties,  would  have  buckled  to  the  task,  under  my  circum- 
stances— distrusted  by  your  brother,  disliked  and  secretly 
despised  by  all  your  dependants,  who  reserved  all  their 
love  and  admiration  for  the  "real  master"  (oh,  I  know 
the  cant  phrase),  although  he  chose  to  abandon  his  posi- 
tion and  yield  himself  to  the  stream  of  his  own  inertness, 
the  real  master  who  in  the  end  can  find  no  better  descrip- 
tion for  these  years  of  faithful  service  than  '  hostility  'and 
'  ingratitude.' " 

Sir  Adrian  halted  a  pace,  a  little  moved  by  the  specious- 
ness  of  the  pleading.     The  incidental  reference  to   that 


236  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

one  grief  of  his  brother's  life  was  of  a  kind  which  could 
never  fail  to  arouse  generous  sympathy  in  his  heart.  But 
Mr.  Landale  had  not  come  to  the  critical  point  of  his  say, 
and  he  did  not  choose  to  allow  the  chapter  of  emotion  to 
begin  just  yet. 

"But,"  he  continued,  pursuing  his  restless  walk, 
"again  to  use  your  own  phraseology,  I  am  not  merely 
recriminating.  I,  too,  wish  you  to  understand  me.  It 
would  be  useless  to  discuss  now,  what  you  elect  to  call 
my  hostility  in  past  days.  I  had  to  keep  up  the  position 
demanded  by  our  ancient  name  ;  to  keep  it  up  amid  a 
society,  against  whose  every  tenet  almost — every  pre- 
judice, you  may  call  them — you  chose  to  run  counter. 
My  antagonism  to  your  mode  of  acting  and  thinking  was 
precisely  measured  by  your  own  against  the  world  in 
which  the  Landales,  as  a  family,  hold  a  stake.  Let  that, 
therefore,  be  dismissed ;  and  let  us  come  at  once  to  the 
special  hostility  you  complain  of  in  me,  since  the  trouble- 
some arrival  of  Aunt  Rose  and  her  wards.  As  the  very 
thing  which  I  was  most  anxious  to  prevent,  if  possible, 
has,  after  all,  come  to  pass,  the  present  argument  may 
seem  useless  ;  but  you  have  courted  it  yourself." 

"  Most  anxious  to  prevent — if  possible  ....!"  re- 
peated Sir  Adrian,  slowly.  "This,  from  a  younger 
brother,  is  almost  cynical,  Rupert !  " 

"Cynical  !  "  retorted  Mr.  Landale,  with  a  furious  laugh. 
"  Why,  you  have  given  sound  to  the  very  word  I  would, 
in  anyljody  else's  case,  have  applied  to  a  behaviour  such 
as  yours.  Is  it  possible,  Adrian,"  said  Rupert,  turning  to 
look  his  brother  in  the  eyes  with  a  look  of  profound 
malice,  "  that  it  has  not  occurred  to  you  yet,  that  cynical 
will  be  the  verdict  the  world  will  pass  on  the  question  of 
your  marriage  with  that  young  girl  ?  " 

Sir  Adrian  flushed  darkly,  and  remained  silent  for  a  pace 
or  two  ;  then,  with  a  puzzled  look  : 

"I  fail  to  understand  you,"  he  said  simply.  "I  am 
no  longer  young,  of  course  ;  yet,  in  years,  I  am  not  pre- 
posterously old.  As  for  the  other  points — name  and 
fortune " 

But  Rupert  interrupted  him  with  a  sharp  exclamation, 
which  betrayed  the  utmost  nervous  exasperation. 

"  Pshaw  !  If  I  did  not  know  you  so  well,  I  would  say 
you  were  playing  at  candour.     This — this  unconvention- 


A  JUNIOR'S  OPINION  237 

ality  of  yours  would  have  led  you  into  curious  pitfalls, 
Adrian,  had  you  been  obliged  to  live  in  the  world.  My 
'hostility'  has  saved  you  from  some  already,  I  know — 
more  is  the  pity  it  could  not  save  you  from  thiS' — for  it 
passes  all  bounds  that  you  should  meditate  such  an  un- 
natural act,  upon  my  soul,  in  the  most  natural  manner  in 
the  world.  One  must  be  an  Adrian  Landale,  and  live  on 
a  tower  for  the  best  part  of  one's  life,  to  reach  such  a 
pitch  of — unconventionality,  let  us  call  it. " 

"For  God's  sake,"  exclaimed  Sir  Adrian,  suddenly  los- 
ing patience,  "what  are  you  driving  at,  man  ?  In  what 
way  can  my  marriage  with  a  young  lady,  who,  incon- 
ceivable as  it  may  be,  has  found  something  to  love  in 
me  ;  in  what  way,  I  say,  can  it  be  accounted  cynical  ?  I 
am  not  subtle  enough  to  perceive  it." 

"To  any  one  but  you,"  sneered  the  other,  coming  to 
his  climax  with  a  sort  of  cruel  deliberation,  "it  would 
hardly  require  special  subtleness  to  perceive  that  for  the 
man  of  mature  age  to  marry  the  daughter,  after  having, 
in  the  days  of  his  youth,  been  the  lover  of  the  mother,  is 
a  proceeding,  the  very  idea  of  which  is  somewhat  revolt- 
ing in  the  average  individual.  .  .  .  There  are  many  rou^s 
in  St.  James'  who  would  shrink  before  it ;  yet  you,  the 
enlightened  philosopher,  the  moralist " 

But  Sir  Adrian,  breathing  quickly,  laid  his  hand  heavily 
on  his  brother's  shoulder. 

*'  When  you  say  the  mother's  lover,  Rupert,"  he  said,  in 
a  contained  voice,  which  was  as  ominous  of  storm  as  the 
first  mutters  of  thunder,  "  you  mean  that  I  loved  her — 
you  do  not  mean  to  insinuate  that  that  noble  woman, 
widowed  but  a  few  weeks,  whose  whole  soul  was  filled 
with  but  one  lofty  idea,  that  of  duty,  was  the  mistress — 
the  mistress  of  a  boy,  barely  out  of  his  teens  ?  " 

Rupert  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  insinuate  nothing,  my  dear  Adrian  ;  I  think  nothing. 
All  this  is  ancient  history  which  after  all  has  long  con- 
cerned only  you.  You  know  best  what  occurred  in  the 
old  days,  and  of  course  a  man  of  honour  is  bound  to  deny 
all  tales  affecting  a  lady's  virtue  !  Even  you,  I  fancy, 
would  condescend  so  far.  But  nevertheless,  reflect  how 
this  marriage  will  rake  up  the  old  story.  It  will  be  re- 
membered how  you,  for  the  sake  of  remaining  by  Cecile  de 
Savenaye's  side,  abandoned  your  home  to  fight  in  a  cause 


238  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

that  did  not  concern  you  ;  nay,  more,  turned  your  back 
for  the  time  upon  those  advanced  social  theories  which 
even  at  your  present  season  of  life  you  have  not  all  shaken 
off.  You  travelled  with  her  from  one  end  of  England  to 
the  other,  in  the  closest  intimacy,  and  finally  departed 
over  seas,  her  acknowledged  escort.  She  on  her  side, 
under  pretext  of  securing  the  best  help  on  her  political 
mission  that  England  can  afford  her,  selected  a  young 
man  notoriously  in  love  with  her,  at  the  very  age  when 
the  passions  are  hottest,  and  wisdom  the  least  consider- 
ation— as  her  influential  agent,  of  course.  Men  are  men, 
Adrian — especially  young  men — small  blame  to  you, 
young  that  you  were,  if  then  ....  but  you  cannot 
expect,  in  sober  earnest,  the  world  to  believe  that  you 
went  on  such  a  wild  pilgrimage  for  nothing  !  Women  are 
women — especially  young  women,  of  the  French  court 
— who  have  never  had  the  reputation  of  admiring  bash- 
fulness  in  stalwart  young  lovers " 

Sir  Adrian's  hand,  pressing  upon  his  brother's  shoulder, 
as  if  weighted  by  all  his  anger,  here  forced  the  speaker 
into  silence. 

"Shame!  Shame,  Rupert!"  he  cried  first,  his  eyes 
aflame  with  a  generous  passion  ;  then  fiercely  :  "Silence, 
fellow,  or  I  will  take  you  by  that  brazen  throat  of  yours 
and  strangle  the  venomous  lie  once  for  all."  And  then, 
with  keen  reproach,  "  That  you,  of  my  blood,  of  hers  too, 
should  be  the  one  to  cast  such  a  stigma  on  her  memory 
— that  you  should  be  unable  even  to  understand  the 
nature  of  our  intercourse  ....  Oh,  shame,  on  you  for 
your  baseness,  for  your  vulgar,  low  suspiciousness  !  .... 
But,  no,  I  waste  my  breath  upon  you,  you  do  not  believe 
this  thing.  You  have  outwitted  yourself  this  time.  Hear 
me  now  :  If  anything  could  have  suggested  to  me  this 
alliance  with  the  child  of  one  I  loved  so  madly  and  so 
hopelessly,  the  thought  that  such  dastardly  slander  could 
ever  have  been  current  would  have  done  so.  The  world, 
having  nothing  to  gain  by  the  belief,  will  never  credit 
that  Sir  Adrian  Landale  would  marry  the  daughter  of  his 
paramour — however  his  own  brother  may  deem  to  his 
advantage  to  seem  to  think  so  !  The  fact  of  Molly  de 
Savenaye  becoming  Lady  Landale  would  alone,  had  such 
ill  rumours  indeed  been  current  in  the  past,  dispel  the 
ungenerous  legend  for  ever." 


A  JUNIOR'S  OPINION  239 

There  were  a  few  moments  of  silence  while  Sir  Adrian 
battled,  in  the  tumult  of  his  indignation,  for  self-control 
again  ;  while  Rupert,  realising  that  he  had  outwitted  him- 
self indeed,  bestowed  inward  curses  upon  most  of  his 
relations  and  his  own  fate. 

The  elder  brother  resumed  at  length,  with  a  faint 
smile  : 

"And  so,  you  see,  even  if  you  had  spoken  out  in  time, 
it  v/ould  have  been  of  little  avail."  Then  he  added,  bit- 
terly. "I  have  received  a  wound  from  an  unforeseen 
quarter.  You  have  dealt  it,  to  no  purpose,  Rupert,  as 
you  see  ....  though  it  may  be  some  compensation  to 
such  a  nature  as  yours  to  know  that  you  have  left  in  it  a 
subtle  venom." 

The  sun  had  already  sunk  away,  and  its  glow  behind 
the  waters  had  faded  to  the  merest  tinge.  In  the  cold 
shadow  of  rising  night  the  two  men  advanced  silently 
homewards.  Sir  Adrian's  soul,  guided  by  the  invidious 
words,  had  flown  back  to  that  dead  year,  the  central 
point  of  his  existence — It  was  true  :  men  will  be  men — 
in  that  very  house,  yonder,  he  had  betrayed  his  love  to 
her;  on  board  the  ship  that  took  them  away  and  by  the 
camp  fire  on  the  eve  of  fight,  he  had  pleaded  the  cause 
of  his  passion,  not  ignobly  indeed,  with  no  thought  of 
the  baseness  which  Rupert  assigned  to  him,  yet  with  a 
selfish  disregard  of  her  position,  of  his  own  grave  trust. 
And  it  was  with  a  glow  of  pride,  in  the  ever  living  object 
of  his  life's  devotion — of  gratitude  almost — that  he  re- 
called the  noble  simplicity  with  which  the  woman,  whom 
he  had  just  heard  classed  among  the  every-day  sinners 
of  society,  had,  without  one  grandiloquent  word,  without 
even  losing  her  womanly  softness,  kept  her  lover  as  well 
as  herself  in  the  path  of  her  lofty  ideal — till  the  end.  And 
yet  she  did  love  him  :  at  the  last  awful  moment,  sinking 
into  the  very  jaws  of  death,  the  secret  of  her  heart  had 
escaped  her.  And  now — now  her  beauty,  and  something 
of  her  own  life  and  soul  was  left  to  him  in  her  child,  as 
the  one  fit  object  on  which  to  devote  that  tenderness 
which  time  could  not  change. 

After  a  while,  from  the  darkness  by  his  side  came  the 
voice  of  his  brother  again,  in  altered,  hardly  recognisable 
accents. 


240  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

"Adrian,  those  last  words  of  yours  were  severe — un- 
just. I  do  not  deserve  such  interpretation  of  my  motives. 
Is  it  my  fault  that  you  are  not  as  other  men?  Am  I  to 
be  blamed  for  judging  you  by  the  ordinary  standard? 
But  you  have  convinced  me  :  you  were  as  chivalrous  as 
Cecile  was  pure,  and  if  needs  be,  believe  me,  Adrian,  I 
will  maintain  it  so  in  the  face  of  the  world.  Yes,  I  mis- 
understood you — and  wounded  you,  as  you  say,  but 
such  was  not  my  intention.      Forgive  me." 

They  had  come  to  the  door.  Sir  Adrian  paused. 
There  was  a  rapid  revulsion  in  his  kindly  mind  at  the 
extraordinary  sound  of  humble  words  from  his  brother ; 
and  with  a  new  emotion,  he  replied,  taking  the  hand  that 
with  well-acted  diffidence  seemed  to  seek  his  grasp  : 

"Perhaps  we  have  both  something  to  forgive  each 
other.  I  fear  you  did  not  misjudge  me  so  much  as  you 
misjudged  her  who  left  me  that  precious  legacy.  But 
believe  that,  believe  it  as  you  have  just  now  said,  Rupert, 
the  mother  of  those  children  never  stooped  to  human 
frailty — her  course  in  her  short  and  noble  life  was  as 
bright  and  pure  as  the  light  of  day." 

Without  another  word  the  two  brothers  shook  hands 
and  re-entered  their  home. 

Sir  Adrian  sought  Miss  O'Donoghue  whom  he  now 
found  in  converse  with  Molly,  and  with  a  grave  eager- 
ness, that  put  the  culminating  touch  to  the  old  lady's 
triumph,  urged  the  early  celebration  of  his  nuptials. 

Mr.  Landale  repaired  to  his  own  study  where  in  soli- 
tude he  could  give  loose  rein  to  his  fury  of  disappoint- 
ment, and  consider  as  carefully  as  he  might  in  the  circum- 
stances how  best  to  work  the  new  situation  to  his  own 
advantage. 

Even  on  that  day  that  had  been  filled  with  so  many 
varied  and  poignant  emotions  for  him  ;  through  the 
dream  in  which  his  whole  being  seemed  to  float,  Sir 
Adrian  found  a  moment  to  think  of  the  humble  followers 
whom  he  had  left  so  abruptly  on  the  island,  and  of  the 
pleasure  the  auspicious  news  would  bring  to  them. 

It  was  late  at  night,  and  just  before  parting  with  the 
guest  who  was  so  soon  to  be  mistress  under  his  roof,  he 
paused  on  the  stairs  before  a  window  that  commanded  a 
view  of  the  bay.     Molly  drew  closer  and  leant  against 


A  JUNIOR'S  OPINION  241 

his  shoulder  ;  and  thus  both  gazed  forth  silently  for  some 
time  at  the  clear  distant  light,  the  luminous  eye  calmly 
watching  over  the  treacherous  sands. 

That  light  of  Scarthey — it  was  the  image  of  the  soli- 
tary placid  life  to  which  he  had  bidden  adieu  for  ever  ; 
which  even  now,  at  this  brief  interval  of  half  a  day, 
seemed  as  far  distant  as  the  years  of  despair  and  vicissi- 
tude and  disgust  to  which  it  had  succeeded.  A  man  can 
feel  the  suddenly  revealed  charm  of  things  that  have 
ceased  to  be,  without  regretting  them. 

With  the  dear  young  head  that  he  loved,  with  a  love 
already  as  old  as  her  very  years,  pressing  his  cheek  ;  with 
that  slender  hand  in  his  grasp,  the  same,  for  his  love  was 
all  miracle,  that  he  had  held  in  the  hot-pulsed  days  of 
old — he  yet  felt  his  mind  wander  back  to  his  nest  of 
dreams.  He  thought  with  gratitude  of  Rene,  the  single- 
minded,  faithful  familiar  ;  of  old  Margery,  the  nurse  who 
had  tended  Cecile's  children,  as  well  as  her  young  mas- 
ter ;  thought  of  their  joy  when  they  should  hear  of  the 
marvellous  knitting  together  into  the  web  of  his  fate,  of 
all  those  far-off  ties. 

In  full  harmony  with  such  fleeting  thoughts,  came 
Molly's  words  at  length  breaking  the  silence. 

"Will  you  take  me  back  to  that  strange  old  place  of 
yours,  Adrian,  when  we  are  married  ?  " 

Sir  Adrian  kissed  her  forehead. 

"And  would  you  not  fear  the  rough  wild  place,  child," 
he  murmured. 

"Not  for  ever,  I  mean,"  laughed  the  girl,  "for  then 
my  mission  would  not  be  fulfilled — which  was  to  make 
of  Adrian,  Sir  Adrian,  indeed.  But  now  and  again,  to 
recall  those  lovely  days,  when — when  you  were  so  dis- 
tracted for  the  love  of  Murthering  Moll  and  the  fear  lest 
she  should  see  it.  You  will  not  dismantle  those  queer 
rooms  that  received  so  hospitably  the  limping,  draggled- 
tailed  guest — they  must  again  shelter  her  when  she 
comes  as  proud  Lady  Landale  !  How  delicious  it  would 
be  if  the  tempest  would  only  rage  again,  and  the  sea- 
mew  shriek,  and  the  caverns  roar  and  thunder,  and  I 
knew  you  were  as  happy  as  I  am  sure  to  be  !  " 

"All  shall  be  kept  up  even  as  you  left   it,"  answered 
Sir  Adrian  moved  by  tender  emotion  ;  "to  be   made  glo- 
rious again  by  the  light  of  your  youth  and  fairness.     And 
16 


242  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

Renny  shall  be  cook  again,  and  maid  of  all  work.  My 
poor  Renny,  what  joy  when  he  hears  of  his  master's  hap- 
piness, and  all  through  the  child  of  his  beloved  mistress  ! 
But  he  will  have  to  spend  a  sobering  time  of  solitude  out 
there,  till  I  can  find  a  substitute  for  his  duties." 

"You  are  very  much  attached  to  that  funny  little 
retainer,  Adrian  ! "'  said  INIolly  after  a  pause. 

"To  no  man  alive  do  I  owe  so  much.  With  no  one 
have  I  had,  through  life,  so  much  in  common,"  came  the 
grave  reply. 

"Then,"  returned  the  girl,  "you  would  thank  me  for 
telling  you  of  the  means  of  making  the  good  man's  exile 
less  heavy,  until  you  take  him  back  with  you." 

"  No  doubt."  There  was  a  tone  of  surprise  and  inquiry 
in  his  voice. 

"Why,  it  is  simple  enough.  Have  you  never  heard  of 
his  admiration  for  Moggie  Mearson,  our  maid  ?  Let 
them  marry.  They  will  make  a  good  pair,  though  funny. 
What,  you  never  knew  it .''  Of  course  not,  or  you  would 
not  have  had  the  heart  to  keep  the  patient  lovers  apart  so 
long.  Let  them  marry,  my  Lord  of  Pulwick :  it  will 
complete  the  romance  of  the  persecuted  Savenayes  of 
Brittany  and  their  helpful  friends  of  the  distant  North." 

Musing,  Sir  Adrian  fell  into  silence.  The  faithful, 
foolish  heart  that  never  even  told  its  secret  desire,  for 
very  fear  of  being  helped  to  win  it ;  by  whom  happiness 
and  love  were  held  to  be  too  dearly  bought  at  the  price 
of  separation  from  the  lonely  exile  ! 

^' Eh  J2'(?n,  dreamer?"  cried  the  girl  gaily. 

"Thank  you,  Molly,"  said  Sir  Adrian,  turning  to  her 
with  shining  eyes.  "This  is  a  pretty  thought,  a  good 
thought.  Renny  will  indeed  doubly  bless  the  day  when 
Providence  sent  you  to  Pulwick." 

And  so,  the  following  morn,  Mr,  Renny  Potter  was 
summoned  to  hear  the  tidings,  and  informed  of  the 
benevolent  prospects  more  privately  concerning  his  own 
life  ;  was  bidden  to  thank  the  future  Lady  Landale  for 
her  service  ;  was  gently  rebuked  for  his  long  reticence, 
and  finally  dismissed  in  company  of  the  glowing  Moggie 
with  a  promise  that  his  nuptials  should  be  celebrated  at 
the  same  time  as  those  of  the  lord  of  the  land.  The  good 
fellow,  however,  required  first  of  all  an  assurance  that 
these  very  fine  plans  would  not  entail  any  interference 


A  JUNIOR'S  OPINION  243 

with  his  duties  to  his  master  before  he  would  allow  him- 
self to  be  pleased  at  his  fortunes.  Great  and  complex, 
then,  was  his  joy  ;  but  it  would  have  been  hard  to  say, 
as  Moggie  confessed  to  her  inquiring  mistress  that  night, 
when  he  had  returned  to  his  post,  whether  the  pride  and 
delight  in  his  master's  own  betrothal  was  not  upper- 
most in  his  bubbling  spirits. 


CHAPTER  XX 
TWO  MONTHS  LATER  :  THE  QUICK  AND  THE  DEAD 

Neighbour,  what  doth  thy  husband  when  he  cometh 

home  from  work  ? 
He  thinks  of  her  he  loved  before  he  knew  me 

Lutef  layer's  Song. 

February  i8/h.  Upon  the  1 8th  of  January,  1815,  did  I 
commit  that  most  irreparable  of  all  follies  ;  then  by  my 
own  hand  I  killed  fair  Molly  de  Savenaye,  who  was  so 
happy,  so  free,  so  much  in  love  with  life,  and  whom  I 
loved  so  dearly,  and  in  her  stead  called  into  existence 
Molly  Landale,  a  poor-spirited  miserable  creature  who  has 
not  given  me  one  moment's  amusement.  How  could  I 
have  been  so  stupid  ? 

Let  me  examine. 

It  is  only  a  month  ago,  only  a  month,  4  weeks,  31  days, 
millions  of  horrible  dreary  minutes.  Oh,  Molly,  Molly, 
Molly  !  since  you  stood,  that  snowy  day,  in  the  great 
drawing-room  {my  drawing-room  now,  I  hate  it),  and 
vowed  twice  over,  once  before  the  Jesuit  father  from 
Stonyhurst,  once  before  jolly,  hunting  heretical  parson 
Cochrane  to  cleave  to  Adrian  Landale  till  death  bid  you 
part  !  Brr — what  ghastly  words  and  with  what  a  light 
heart  I  said  them,  tripped  them  out,  ma  foi,  as  gaily  as 
"good-morning"  or  "good-night!"  They  were  to  be 
the  open  sesame  to  joys  untold,  to  lands  flowing  with 
milk  and  honey,  to  romance,  adventure,  splendour — and 
what  have  they  brought  me  ? 

It  is  a  cold  day,  sleeting,  snowing,  blowing,  all  that  is 
abominable.  My  lord  and  master  has  ridden  off,  despite 
it,  to  some  distant  farm  where  there  has  been  a  fire.  The 
"Good  Sir  Adrian,"  as  they  call  him  now — he  is  ihai  ; 
but,  oh  dear  me — there  !  I  must  yawn,  and  I'll  say  no 
more  on  this  head,  at  present,  for  I  want  to  think  and 

244 


THE  QUICK  AND  THE  DEAD  245 

work  my  wretched  problem  out  in  earnest,  and  not  go  to 
sleep. 

It  is  the  first  time  I  have  taken  heart  to  write  since 
yonder  day  of  doom,  and  God  knows  when  I  shall  have 
heart  again  !  Upon  such  an  afternoon  there  is  nothing 
better  to  do,  since  Sir  Adrian  would  have  none  of  my 
company — he  is  so  precious  of  me  that  he  fears  I  should 
melt  like  sugar  in  the  wet — he  never  guessed  that  it  was 
just  because  of  the  storm  I  wished  the  ride  !  Were  we  to 
live  a  hundred  years  together — which,  God  forfend — he 
would  never  understand  me. 

Ah,  lack-a-day,  oh,  misery  me!  (My  lady,  you  are 
wandering  ;  come  back  to  business.) 

What,  then,  has  marriage  brought  me  ?  First  of  all  a 
husband.  That  is  to  say,  another  person,  a  man  who 
has  the  right  to  me — to  whom  I  myself  have  given  that 
right — to  have  me,  to  hold  me,  as  it  runs  in  the  terrible 
service,  the  thunders  of  which  were  twice  rolled  out  upon 
my  head,  and  which  have  been  ringing  there  ever  since. 
And  I,  Molly,  gave  of  my  own  free  will,  that  best  and 
most  blessed  of  all  gifts,  my  own  free  will,  away.  I  am 
surrounded,  as  it  were,  by  barriers  ;  hemmed  in,  bound 
up,  kept  in  leading  strings.  I  mind  me  of  the  seagull  on 
the  island.  Tis  all  in  the  most  loving  care  in  the  world, 
of  course,  but  oh  !  the  oppression  of  it  !  I  must  hide  my 
feelings  as  well  as  I  can,  for  in  my  heart  I  would  not 
grieve  that  good  man,  that  excellent  man,  that  pattern  of 
kind  gentleman — oh,  oh,  oh — it  will  out — that  dreary  man, 
that  dull  man,  that  most  melancholy  of  all  men  !  Who 
sighs  more  than  he  smiles,  and,  I  warrant,  of  the  two,  his 
sighs  are  the  more  cheerful  ;  who  looks  at  his  beautiful 
wife  as  if  he  saw  a  ghost,  and  kisses  her  as  if  he  kissed  a 
corpse ! 

There  is  a  mate  for  Molly  I  the  mate  she  chose  for  her- 
self! 

So  much  for  the  husband.  What  else  has  marriage 
brought  her  ? 

Briefly  I  will  capitulate. 

A  title — I  am  my  lady.  For  three  days  it  sounded 
prettily  in  my  ears.  But  to  the  girl  who  refused  a  duchess' 
coronet,  who  was  born  comtesse — to  be  the  baronet's  lady 
— Tanty  may  say  what  she  likes  of  the  age  of  creation, 
and  all  the  rest  of  it — that  advantage  cannot  weigh  heavy 


246  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

in  the  balance.  Again  then,  I  have  a  splendid  house — 
which  is  my  prison,  and  in  which,  like  all  prisoners,  I  have 
not  the  right  to  choose  my  company — else  would  Sophia 
and  Rupert  still  be  here  ?  They  are  going,  I  am  told 
occasionally ;  but  my  intimate  conviction  is,  however 
often  they  may  be  going,  they  will  never  go.  Item  four : 
I  have  money,  and  nothing  to  spend  it  on — but  the  poor. 

What  next?  What  next? — alas,  I  look  and  I  find 
nothing  !  This  is  all  that  marriage  has  brought  me  ;  and 
what  has  it  not  taken  from  me  ? 

My  delight  in  existence,  my  independence,  my  hopes, 
my  belief  in  the  future,  my  belief  in  love.  Faith,  hope, 
and  charity,  in  fact,  destroyed  at  one  fell  sweep.  And 
all,  to  gratify  my  curiosity  as  to  a  romantic  mystery,  my 
vanity  as  to  my  own  powers  of  fascination  !  Well,  I  have 
solved  the  mystery,  and  behold  it  was  nothing,  I  have 
eaten  of  the  fruit  of  knowledge,  and  it  is  tasteless  in  my 
mouth. 

I  have  made  my  capture  with  my  little  bow  and  spear, 
and  I  am  as  embarrassed  of  my  captive  as  he  of  me.  We 
pull  at  the  chain  that  binds  us  together ;  nay,  such  being 
the  law  of  this  world  between  men  and  women,  the  posi- 
tions are  reversed,  my  captive  is  now  my  master,  and 
Molly  is  the  slave. 

Tanty,  I  could  curse  thee  for  thy  officiousness,  from  the 
tip  of  thy  coal  black  wig  to  the  sole  of  thy  platter  shoe — 
but  that  I  am  too  good  to  curse  thee  at  all  ! 

Poor  book  of  my  life  that  I  was  so  eager  to  fill  in,  that 
was  to  have  held  a  narrative  all  thrilling,  and  all  varied, 
now  will  I  set  forth  in  thee,  my  failure,  my  hopelessness, 
and  after  that  close  thee  for  ever. 

Of  what  use  indeed  to  chronicle,  when  there  is  nought 
to  tell  but  flatness,  chill  monotony,  on  every  side  ;  when 
even  the  workings  of  my  soul  cannot  interest  me  to 
follow,  since  they  can  now  foreshadow  nothing,  lead  to 
nothing  but  fruitless  struggle  or  tame  resignation  ! 

I  discovered  my  mistake — not  the  whole  of  it,  but 
enough  to  give  me  a  dreadful  foreboding  of  its  hideous- 
ness,  not  two  hours  after  the  nuptial  ceremony. 

Adrian  had  borne  himself  up  to  that  with  the  ro- 
mantic, mysterious  dignity  of  presence  that  first  caught 
my  silly  fancy  ;  behind  which  I  had  pictured  such  fasci- 
nating depths  of  passion — of  fire — Alas  !     When  he  looked 


THE  QUICK  AND  THE  DEAD  247 

at  me  it  was  with  that  air  of  wondering,   almost  timid, 
affection  battling  with  I  know  not  what  flame  of  rapture, 
with    which    look    I    have    become    so    fatally    familiar 
since — without  the  flame  of  rapture,   be  it  understood, 
which  seems  to  have  rapidly  burnt  away  to  a  very  ash  of 
grey  despondency  and  self-reproach,     I  could  have  sworn 
even  as  he  gave  me  his  arm  to  meet  and  receive  the  con- 
gratulations of  our  guests,  that  the  glow  upon  his  cheek, 
the  poise  of  his  head  denoted  the  pride  any  man,  were 
he  not  an  idiot  nor  a  brute,  must  feel   in  presenting  his 
bride — such  a  bride  ! — to  the  world.     Then  we  went  in 
to  the  great  dining  hall  where   the  wedding  feast,  a  very 
splendid  one,    was   spread.     All    the    gentlemen    looked 
with  admiration  at  me  ;  many  with  envy  at  Adrian.     I 
knew  that  I  was  beautiful  in  my  fine  white  satin  with  my 
veil  thrown  back,   without  the    flattering  whispers   that 
reached  me  now  and  again  ;  but  these  were  sweet  to  hear 
nevertheless.     I  knew  myself  the   centre  of  all  eyes,  and 
it  elated  me.     So  too  did  the  tingling  flavour  of  the  one 
glass  of  sparkling  wine  I  drank  to  my  fortunes.      Imme- 
diately upon  this  silent  toast  of  Lady  Landale  to  herself, 
Rupert  rose  and  in  choice  words  and  silver-ringing  voice 
proposed  the  health  of  the  bride  and  bridegroom.     There 
was  a  merry  bustling  pause  while  the  glasses  were  filled  ; 
then  rising  to  their  feet  as  with  one   man,  all  the  gentle- 
men stood  with  brimming  goblets  one  instant  extended, 
the  next  emptied  to  the  last  drop  ;  and  then   the  cheers 
rang  out,  swelling  up  the  rafters,  three  times  three,  seem- 
ing to  carry  my  soul  along  with   them.     I  felt  my  heart 
expand  and  throb  with  an    emotion  I  never  knew  in  it 
before,  which  seemed  to  promise  vast  future  capacities  of 
pain  and  delight.      I  turned  to  my  husband  instinctively  ; 
looking   for,    expecting,    I    could   not    explain    why,    an 
answering  fire  in  his  eyes.     This  was  the  last  moment  of 
my  illusions.      From  thence  they  began   to  shrivel  away 
with  a  terrifying  rapidity. 

Adrian  sat  with  a  face  that  looked  old  and  lined  and 
grey  ;  with  haggard  unseeing  eyes  gazing  forth  into 
space  as  though  fixing  some  invisible  and  spectre  show. 
He  seemed  as  if  wrapt  in  a  world  of  his  own,  to  which 
none  of  us  had  entrance  ;  least  of  all,  I,  his  wife. 

The  shouts  around  us  died  away,  there  were  cries  upon 
him  for  "  Speech — speech,"  then  playful  queries — "  How 


248  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

is  this,  Sir  Adrian  ?  So  bashful,  egad  !  "  next  nudges  were 
exchanged,  looks  of  wonder,  and  an  old  voice  speaking 
broadly  : 

"  Ves,  by  George,^''  it  was  saying,  '^  I  remember  it  well ^ 
by  George,  in  this  very  room,  now  twenty  years  ago,  '  Here, 
gentlemen,'  says  old  Sir  Tummas,  ''Here's  to  Madam  de 
Savenaye,'  and  gad,  ma'am,  we  all  yelled, — she  was  a  lovely 
creature— Eh— Eh  ?  " 

"Hush,"  said  some  one,  and  there  was  a  running 
circle  of  frowns  and  the  old  voice  ceased  as  abruptly  as 
if  its  owner  had  been  seized  by  the  weasand.  In  the 
heavy  embarrassed  silence,  I  caught  Tanty's  red  per- 
turbed look  and  Rupert's  smile. 

But  Adrian  sat  on — like  a  ghost  among  the  living,  or  a 
live  man  among  the  dead.  And  this  was  my  gallant  bride- 
groom!   I  seized  him  by  the  hand — "  Are  you  ill,  Adrian  ?  " 

He  started  and  looked  round  at  me — Oh  that  look  !  It 
seemed  to  burn  into  my  soul,  I  shall  never  forget  the 
hopelessness,  the  dull  sadness  of  it,  and  then — ^I  don't 
know  what  he  read  in  my  answering  glance — the  mute 
agonised  question,  followed  by  a  terror. 

"They  want  you  to  speak,"  I  whispered,  and  shook 
the  cold  hand  I  held  in  a  fury  of  impatience. 

His  lips  trembled  :  he  stared  at  me  blankly.  "My 
God,  my  God,  what  have  I  done?"  he  muttered  to  him- 
self, "  Ce'cile's  child— «cile's  child  !  " 

I  could  have  burst  out  sobbing.  But  seeing  Rupert's 
face  bent  down  towards  his  plate,  demure  and  solemn, 
yet  stamped,  for  all  his  cleverness,  with  an  almost  devilish 
triumph,  my  pride  rose  and  my  courage.  Every  one  else 
seemed  to  be  looking  towards  us  :  I  stood  up. 

"  Good  friends,"  I  said,  "  I  see  that  my  husband  is  so 
much  touched  by  the  welcome  that  you  are  giving  his  bride, 
the  welcome  that  you  are  giving  him  after  his  long  exile 
from  his  house,  that  he  is  quite  unable  to  answer  you  as 
he  would  wish.  But  lest  you  should  misunderstand  this 
silence  of  his,  I  am  bold  enough  to  answer  you  in  his  name, 
and — since  it  is  but  a  few  moments  ago  that  you  have  seen 

us  made  one,  I  think  I  have  the  right  to  do  so We 

thank  you." 

My  heart  was  beating  to  suffocation — but  I  carried 
bravely  on  till  I  was  drowned  in  a  storm  of  acclamations 
to  which  the  first  cheers  were  as  nothing. 


THE  QUICK  AND  THE  DEAD  249 

They  drank  my  health  again,  and  again  I  heard  the  old 
gentleman  of  the  indiscreet  voice — I  have  learned  since 
he  is  stone  deaf,  and  I  daresay  he  flattered  himself  he  spoke 
in  a  whisper — proclaim  that  I  was  my  mother  all  over  again : 
begad — so  had  she  spoken  to  them  twenty  years  ago  in  this 
very  r 00771  ! 

Here  Tanty  came  to  the  rescue  and  carried  me  off. 

I  dared  not  trust  myself  to  look  at  Adrian  as  I  left,  but 
I  knew  that  he  followed  me  to  the  door,  from  which 
I  presumed  that  he  had  recovered  his  presence  of  mind  in 
some  degree. 

Since  that  day  we  have  been  like  two  who  walk  along 
on  opposite  banks  of  a  widening  stream — ever  more  and 
more  divided. 

I  have  told  no  one  of  my  despair.  It  is  curious,  but, 
little  wifely  as  I  feel  towards  him,  there  is  something  in 
me  that  keeps  me  back  from  the  disloyalty  of  discussing 
my  husband  with  other  people. 

And  it  is  not  even  as  it  might  have  been — this  is  what 
maddens  me.  We  are  always  at  cross  purposes.  Some 
wilful  spirit  wakes  in  me,  at  the  very  sound  of  his  voice 
(always  gentle  and  restrained,  and  echoing  of  past  sad- 
ness) ;  under  his  mild,  tender  look  ;  at  the  every  fresh 
sign  of  his  perpetual  watchful  anxiety — I  give  him  way- 
ward answers,  frowning  greetings,  sighs,  pouts  ;  I  feel  at 
times  a  savage  desire  to  wound,  to  anger  him,  and  as  far 
as  I  dare  venture  I  have  ventured,  yet  could  not  rouse  in 
him  one  spark,  even  of  proper  indignation. 

The  word  of  the  riddle  lay  in  that  broken  exclamation 
of  his  at  our  wedding  feast. 

"Cecile's  child  !  " 

His  wife,  then,  is  only  Cdcile's  child  to  him.  I  have 
failed  when  I  thought  to  have  conquered — and  with  the 
consciousness  of  failure  have  lost  my  power,  even  to  the 
desire  of  regaining  it.  My  dead  mother  is  my  rival  ;  her 
shade  rises  between  me  and  my  husband's  love.  Could 
he  have  loved  me,  I  might  perhaps  have  loved  him — and 
now — now  I,  Molly,  I,  shall  perhaps  go  down  to  my  grave 
without  having  known  love. 

I  thought  I  had  found  it  on  that  day  when  he  took  me 
in  his  arms  in  that  odious  library — my  heart  melted  when 
he  so  tenderly  kissed  my  lips.  And  now  the  very  remem- 
brance of  that  moment  angers  me.     Tenderness  !     Am  I 


250  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

only  a  weak,  helpless  child  that  I  can  arouse  no  more 
from  the  man  to  whom  I  have  given  myself !  I  thought 
the  gates  of  life  had  been  opened  to  me — behold,  they  led 
me  to  a  warm  comfortable  prison  !  And  this  is  Molly's 
end ! 

There  is  a  light  in  Madeleine's  eyes,  a  ring  in  her  voice, 
a  smile  upon  her  lip.  She  has  bloomed  into  a  beauty 
that  I  could  hardly  have  imagined,  and  this  is  because  of 
this  unknown  whom  she  loves.  She  breathes  the  fulness 
of  the  flower  ;  and  by-and-by,  no  doubt,  she  will  taste 
the  fulness  of  the  fruit  ;  she  will  be  complete  ;  she  will  be 
fed  and  I  am  to  starve.  What  is  coming  to  me  ?  I  do 
not  know  myself.  I  feel  that  I  could  grudge  her  these 
mvours,  that  I  do  grudge  them  to  her.     I  am  sick  at  heart. 

And  she — even  she  has  proved  false  to  me.  I  know 
that  she  meets  this  man.  Adrian  too  knows  it,  and  more 
of  him  than  he  will  tell  me  ;  and  he  approves.  I  am 
treated  like  a  child.  The  situation  is  strange  upon  every 
side  ;  Madeleine  loving  a  plebeian — a  sailor,  not  a  king's 
officer — stooping  to  stolen  interviews  !  Adrian  the  punc- 
tilious, in  whose  charge  Tanty  solemnly  left  her,  pretend- 
ing ignorance,  virtually  condoning  my  sister's  behaviour  ! 
For  though  he  has  distmctly  refused  to  enlighten  me  or 
help  me  to  enlighten  myself,  he  could  not,  upon  my  tax- 
ing him  with  it,  deny  that  he  was  in  possession  of  facts 
ignored  by  me. 

Then  there  is  Rupert  paying  now  open  court  to  this  sly 
damsel — for  the  sake  of  her  beautiful  eyes,  or  for  the 
beautiful  eyes  of  her  casket  ?  And  last  and  strangest,  the 
incongruous  friendship  struck  up  this  week  between  her 
and  that  most  irritating  of  melancholy  fools,  Sophia.  The 
latter  bursts  with  suppressed  importance,  she  launches 
glances  of  understanding  at  my  sister  ;  sighs,  smiles  (when 
Rupert's  eye  is  not  on  her),  starts  mysteriously.  One 
would  say  that  Madeleine  had  made  a  confidant  of  her — 
only  that  it  would  be  too  silly.  What  ?  Make  a  confidant 
of  that  funereal  mute  and  deny  me  the  truth  !  If  I  had  the 
spirit  for  it  I  would  set  myself  to  discovering  this  grand 
mystery  ;  and  then  let  them  beware  !  They  would  have 
none  of  Molly  as  a  friend  :  perhaps  she  will  yet  prove  one 
too  many  upon  the  other  side. 

If  I  have  grown  bitter  to  Madeleine,  it  is  her  own  fault ; 
I  would  have  been  as  true  as  steel  to  her  if  she  had  but 


THE  QUICK  AND  THE  DEAD  251 

trusted  me.  Now  and  again,  when  a  hard  word  and  look 
escape  me,  she  gives  me  a  great  surprised,  reproachful 
glance,  as  of  a  petted  child  that  has  been  hurt ;  but  mostly 
she  scarcely  seems  to  notice  the  change  in  me — Moonlike 
in  dreamy  serenity  she  sails  along,  wrapt  in  her  own 
thoughts,  and  troubles  no  more  over  Molly's  breaking  her 
heart  than  over  Rupert's  determined  suit.  To  me  when 
she  remembers  me,  she  gives  the  old  caresses,  the  old 
loving  words  ;  to  him  smiles  and  pretty  courtesy.  Oh, 
she  keeps  her  secret  well !  But  I  came  upon  her  in  the 
woods  alone,  last  Friday,  fresh,  no  doubt,  from  her  lover's 
arms  ;  tremulous,  smiling,  yet  tearful,  with  face  dyed  rose. 
And  when  to  my  last  effort  to  attain  the  right  of  sister- 
hood she  would  only  stammer  the  tell-tale  words  :  she 
had  promised  I  and  press  her  hot  cheeks  against  mine,  I 
thrust  her  from  me,  indignant,  and  from  my  affections  for 
ever.     Yet  I   hold  her  in   my    power,   I  could  write    to 

Tanty,  put  Rupert  on  the  track Nay,  I  have  not 

fallen  so  low  as  to  become  Rupert's  accomplice  yet ! 

And  so  the  days  go  on.  Between  my  husband's  in- 
creasing melancholy,  my  own  mad  regrets,  Rupert's 
watchfulness,  Madeleine's  absorption  and  Sophia's 
twaddle,  my  brain  reels.  I  feel  sometimes  as  if  I  could 
scream  aloud,  as  we  all  sit  round  the  table,  and  I  know 
that  this  is  the  life  that  I  am  doomed  to,  and  that  the  days 
may  go  on,  go  on  thus,  till  I  am  old.  Poor  Murthering 
Moll  the  second  !  Why  even  the  convent,  where  at  least 
I  knew  nothing,  would  have  been  better  !  No,  it  is  not 
possible  !  Something  is  still  to  come  to  me.  Like  a  bird, 
my  heart  rises  within  me.  I  have  the  right  to  my  life, 
the  right  to  my  happiness,  say  what  they  may. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
THE  DAWN  OF  AN  EVENTFUL  DAY 

Rupert's  behaviour  at  home,  since  his  brother's  wedding-, 
had  been,  as  even  Molly  was  bound  to  admit  to  herself, 
beyond  reproach  in  tactfulness,  quiet  dignity,  and  seem- 
ing cheerfulness. 

He  abdicated  from  his  position  of  trust  at  once  and 
without  the  smallest  reservation  ;  wooed  Madeleine  with 
so  great  a  discretion  that  her  dreamy  eyes  saw  in  him  only 
a  kind  relative  ;  and  he  treated  his  sister-in-law,  for  all 
her  freaks  of  bearing  to  him,  with  a  perfect  gentleness 
and  gentility. 

At  times  Sir  Adrian  would  watch  him  with  great  eyes. 
What  meant  this  change.-*  the  guileless  philosopher  would 
ask  himself,  and  wonder  if  he  had  judged  his  brother  too 
harshly  all  through  life  ;  or  if  it  was  his  plain  speaking  in 
their  last  quarrel  which  had  put  things  in  their  true  light 
to  him,  and  awakened  some  innate  generosity  of  feeling; 
or  yet  if — this  with  misgiving — it  was  love  for  pretty 
Madeleine  that  was  working  the  marvel.  If  so,  how 
would  this  proud  rebellious  nature  bear  another  failure.? 

Rupert  spoke  with  unaffected  regret  about  leaving 
Pulwick,  at  the  same  time,  in  spite  of  Molly's  curling  lip, 
giving  it  to  be  understood  that  his  removal  was  only  a 
matter  of  time. 

For  the  ostensible  purpose,  indeed,  of  finding  himself 
another  home  he  made,  in  the  beginning  of  March,  the  sec- 
ond month  after  his  brother's  marriage,  several  absences 
which  lasted  a  couple  of  days  or  more,  and  from  which 
he  would  return  with  an  eager  sparkle  in  his  eye,  almost 
a  brightness  on  his  olive  check,  to  sit  beside  Madeleine's 
embroidery  frame,  pulling  her  silks  and  snipping  with  her 
scissors,  and  talking  gaily,  persistently,  with  such  humour 
and  colour  as  at  last  to  draw  that  young  lady's  attention 
from  far  off  musings  to  his  words  with  smiles  and  laughter. 

252 


THE  DAWN  OF  AN  EVENTFUL  DAY     253 

Meanwhile,  Molly  would  sit  unoccupied,  brooding, 
watching-  them,  now  fiercely,  from  under  her  black  brows, 
now  scornfully,  now  abstractedly  ;  the  while  she  nibbled 
at  her  delicate  finger-nails,  or  ruthlessly  dragged  them 
along  the  velvet  arms  of  her  chair  with  the  gesture  of  a 
charming,  yet  distracted,  cat. 

Sir  Adrian  would  first  tramp  the  rooms  with  unwitting 
restlessness,  halting,  it  might  be,  beside  his  wife  to  strive 
to  engage  her  into  speech  with  him  ;  and,  failing,  would 
betake  himself  at  length  with  a  heavy  sigh  to  solitude  ; 
or,  yet,  he  would  sit  down  to  his  organ — the  new  one  in 
the  great  hall  which  had  been  put  up  since  his  marriage, 
at  Molly's  own  gay  suggestion,  during  their  brief  betrothal 
— and  music  would  peal  out  upon  them  till  Lady  Lan- 
dale's  stormy  heart  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  she  would 
rise  in  her  turn,  fly  to  the  shelter  of  her  room  and  roll  her 
head  in  the  pillows  to  stifle  the  sound  of  sobs,  crying 
from  the  depths  of  her  soul  against  heaven's  injustice  ; 
anon  railing  in  a  frenzy  of  impotent  anger  against  the 
musician,  who  had  such  passion  in  him  and  gave  it  to  his 
music  alone. 

During  Rupert's  absences  that  curious  intimacy  which 
Molly  had  contemptuously  noted  between  her  sister  and 
sister-in-law  displayed  itself  in  more  conspicuous  manner. 

Miss  Landale's  long  sallow  visage  sported  its  airs  of 
mystery  and  importance,  its  languishing  leers  undisguis- 
edly,  so  long  as  her  brother  Rupert's  place  was  empty  ; 
and  though  her  visits  to  the  rector's  grave  were  now  al- 
most quotidian,  she  departed  upon  them  with  looks  of 
wrapt  importance,  and,  returning,  sought  Madeleine's 
chamber  (when  that  maiden  did  not  herself  stroll  out  to 
meet  her  in  the  woods),  her  countenance  invariably 
wreathed  with  suppressed,  yet  triumphant  smiles,  instead 
of  the  old  self-assertive  dejection. 


The  15th  of  March  of  that  year  was  to  be  a  memorable 
day  in  the  lives  of  so  many  of  those  who  then  either 
dwelt  in  Pulwick,  or  had  dealings  on  that  wide  estate. 

Miss  Landale,  who  had  passed  the  midnight  hour  in 
poring  over  the  delightful  wickedness  of  Lara,  and,  upon 
at  length  retiring  to  her  pillow,  had  had  a  sentimental 
objection  to  shutting  out  the  romantic  light  of  the  moon 


254  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

by  curtain  or  shutter,  was  roused  into  wakefulness  soon 
after  dawn  by  a  glorious  white  burst  of  early  sunshine. 
As  a  rule,  the  excellent  soul  liked  to  lie  abed  till  the  last 
available  moment;  but  that  morning  she  was  up  with  the 
sun.  When  dressed  she  drew  a  letter  from  a  secret  casket 
with  manifold  precautions  as  though  she  were  surrounded 
with  prying  eyes,  and,  placing  it  in  her  reticule,  hastened 
forth  to  seek  the  little  lonely  disused  churchyard  by  the 
shore.  She  afterwards  remarked  that  she  could  never 
forget  in  what  agitation  of  spirits  and  with  what  strange 
presentiment  of  evil  she  was  led  to  this  activity  at  so 
unwonted  an  hour.  The  truth  was,  however,  that  Miss 
Landale  tripped  along  through  the  damp  wooded  path  as 
gaily  as  if  she  were  going  to  visit  her  living  lover  instead 
of  his  granite  tomb  ;  and  that  in  lieu  of  evil  omens 
a  hundred  fantastically  sentimental  thoughts  floated 
through  her  brain,  as  merrily  and  irresponsibly  as  the 
motes  in  the  long  shafts  of  brilliancy  that  cleaved,  sword- 
like through  the  mists,  upon  her  from  out  the  east. 
Visions  of  Madeleine's  face  when  she  would  learn  before 
breakfast  that  Sophia  had  actually  been  to  the  churchyard 
already ;  visions  of  whom  she  might  meet  there  ;  re- 
hearsals of  a  romantic  scene  upon  that  hallowed  spot,  of 
her  own  blushes,  her  knowing  looks,  her  playful  remon- 
strances, with  touching  allusions  to  one  who  had  loved 
and  lost,  herself,  and  who  thus,  &c.  &c. 

Miss  Landale  tossed  her  long  faded  ringlets  quite 
coquettishly,  turned  one  slim  bony  hand  with  coy  gesture 
before  her  approving  eyes.  Then  she  patted  her  reticule 
and  hurried  on  with  fresh  zest,  enjoying  the  tart  whisper 
of  the  wind  against  her  well  bonneted  face,  the  exquisite 
virginal  beauty  of  the  earth  in  the  early  spring  of  the  day 
and  of  the  year. 

As  she  stepped  out  of  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  her  heart 
leaped  and  then  almost  stood  still  as  she  perceived  in  the 
churchyard  lying  below  her,  beside  the  great  slab  of 
granite  which  lay  over  the  remains  of  her  long-departed 
beloved  one,  the  figure  of  a  man,  whose  back  was  turned 
towards  her,  and  whose  erect  outline  was  darkly 
silhouetted  against  the  low,  dazzling  light. 

Then  a  simper  of  exceeding  archness  crept  upon  Miss 
Landale's  lips  ;  and  with  as  genteel  an  amble  as  the  some- 
what precipitate  nature  of  the  small  piece  of  ground  that 


THE  DAWN  OF  AN  EVENTFUL  DAY     255 

yet  divided  her  from  the  graveyard  would  allow,  she  pro- 
ceeded on  her  way. 

At  the  click  of  the  lych-gate  under  her  hand  the  man 
turned  sharply  round  and  looked  at  her  without  moving 
further.     An  open  letter  fluttered  in  his  hand. 

His  face  was  still  against  the  light,  and  Miss  Landale's 
eyes  had  wept  so  many  tears  by  day  and  night  that  her 
sight  was  none  of  the  best.  She  dropped  a  very  elegant 
curtsey,  simpered,  drew  nearer,  and  threw  a  fetching 
glance  upwards.  Then  her  shrill  scream  rang  through 
the  still  morning  air  and  frightened  the  birds  in  the  ruined 
church. 

"  You  are  early  this  morning,  Sophia,"  said  Mr.  Landale. 

Sophia  sank  upon  the  tombstone.  To  say  that  she  was 
green  or  yellow  would  ill  describe  the  ghastliness  of  the 
tint  that  suffused  her  naturally  bilious  countenance  ;  still 
speechless,  she  made  a  frantic  plunge  towards  the  great 
urn  that  adorned  the  head  of  the  grave.  Mr.  Landale 
looked  up  from  his  reading  again  with  a  quiet  smile. 

"I  shall  have  done  in  one  minute,"  he  remarked,  "  It 
is  a  fine  production,  egad  !  full  of  noble  protestations  and 
really  high-sounding  words.  And  then,  my  dear  Sophia, 
you  can  take  charge  of  it,  and  I  shall  be  quite  ready  for 
the  other,  which  I  presume  you  have  as  usual  with  you — 
ah,  in  your  bag  !     Thanks." 

"Rupert?"  ejaculated  the  unfortunate  lady,  first  in 
agonised  query,  and  next  in  agonised  reproach,  clasping 
her  hands  over  the  precious  reticule — "  Rupert !" 

Mr.  Landale  neatly  folded  the  sheet  he  had  been  read- 
ing, moistened  with  his  tongue  a  fresh  wafer  which  he 
drew  from  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and,  deftly  placing  it 
upon  the  exact  spot  from  which  the  original  one  had  been 
removed,  handed  the  letter  to  his  sister  with  a  little  bow. 
But,  as  with  a  gesture  of  horror  the  latter  refused  to  take 
it,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  tossed  it  carelessly  into 
the  urn. 

"  Now  give  me  Madeleine's,"  he  said,  peremptorily. 

Rolhng  upwards  eyes  of  appeal  the  unhappy  Iris  called 
upon  heaven  to  witness  that  she  would  die  a  thousand 
deaths  rather  than  betray  her  solemn  trust.  But  even  as 
she  spoke  the  fictitious  flame  of  courage  withered  away 
in  her  shrinking  frame  ;  and  at  the  mere  touch  of  her 
brother's  finger  and  thumb  upon  her  wrist,  the  mere  sight 


256  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

of  his  face  bending  masterfully  over  her  with  white  teeth 
just  gleaming  between  his  twisting  smile  and  half-veiled 
eyes  of  insolent  determination,  she  allowed  him,  unresist- 
ing, to  take  the  bag  from  her  side  ;  protesting  against  the 
breach  of  faith  only  by  her  moans  and  the  inept  wringing 
of  her  hands. 

Mr.  Landale  opened  the  bag,  tossed  with  cynical  con- 
tempt upon  the  flat  tombstone,  sundry  precious  relics  of 
the  mouldering  bones  within,  and  discovered  at  length  in 
an  inner  pocket  a  dainty  flower-scented  note.  Then  he 
flung  down  the  bag  and  proceeded  with  the  same  delibera- 
tion to  open  the  letter  and  peruse  its  delicate  flowing  hand- 
writing. 

"Upon  my  word,"  he  vowed,  "I  think  this  is  the 
prettiest  she  has  written  yet !  What  a  sweet  soul  it  is  ! 
Listen,  Sophia  :  'You  praise  me  for  my  trust  in  you — 
but,  Jack,  dear  love,  my  trust  is  so  much  a  part  of  my 
love  that  the  one  would  not  exist  without  the  other. 
Therefore,  do  not  give  me  any  credit,  for  you  know  I 
could  not  help  loving  you.'  Poor  heart!  poor  confiding 
child!  Oh!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Landale  as  if  to  himself, 
carefully  proceeding  the  while  with  his  former  manoeuvres 
to  end  by  placing  the  violated  missive,  to  all  appearance 
intact,  beside  its  fellow,  "  we  have  here  a  rank  fellow,  a 
foul  traitor  to  deal  with  !  " 

Then,  wheeling  round  to  his  sister,  and  fixing  her  with 
piercing  eyes  :  "Sophia,"  he  exclaimed,  in  tones  of  stern- 
est rebuke,  "  I  am  surprised  at  you.     I  am,  indeed  !  " 

Miss  Landale  raised  mesmerised,  horror-stricken  eyes 
upon  him  ;  his  dark  utterances  had  already  filled  her  fool- 
ish soul  with  blind  dread.  He  sat  down  beside  her,  and 
once  more  enclosed  the  thin  arm  in  his  light  but  warning 
grasp. 

"Sophia,"  he  said  solemnly,  "you  little  guess  the  mag- 
nitude of  the  harm  you  have  been  doing  ;  the  frightful 
fate  you  have  been  preparing  for  an  innocent  and  trusting 
girl  ;  the  depth  of  the  villainy  you  are  aiding  and  abetting. 
You  have  been  acting,  as  I  say,  in  ignorance,  without 
realising  the  awful  consequences  of  your  folly  and  duplic- 
ity. But  that  you  should  have  chosen  ihis  sacred  place 
for  such  illicit  and  reprehensible  behaviour  ;  that  by  the 
grave  of  this  worthy  man  who  loved  you,  by  the  stones 
chosen  and  paid  foi*  by  my  fraternal  affection,  you  should 


THE  DAWN  OF  AN  EVENTFUL  DAY      259 

plot  and  scheme  to  deceive  your  family,  and  help  to  leaur 
a  confiding  and  beautiful  creature  to  ruin,  I  should  never 
have  expected  from_>'o«,  Sophia — Sophia  !  " 

Miss  Landale  collapsed  into  copious  weeping. 

"  I  am  sure,  brother,"  she  sobbed,  "  I  never  meant  any 
harm.  I  am  sure  nobody  loves  the  dear  girl  better  than  I 
do.  I  am  sure  I  never  wished  to  hide  anything  from  you  ! 
— Only — they  told  me — they  trusted  me — they  made  me 
promise — Oh  brother,  what  terrible  things  you  have  been 
saying !  I  cannot  believe  that  so  handsome  a  young 
gentleman  can  mean  anything  wrong — I  only  wish  you 
could  have  seen  him  with  her,  he  is  so  devoted — it  is  quite 
beautiful. " 

"Alas — the  tempter  always  makes  himself  beautiful  in 
the  eyes  of  the  tempted  !  Sophia,  we  can  yet  save  this 
unhappy  child,  but  who  knows  how  soon  it  may  be  too 
late  ! — You  can  still  repair  some  of  the  wrong  you  have 
done,  but  you  can  only  do  so  by  the  most  absolute  obe- 
dience to  me  ....  Believe  me,  I  know  the  truth  about 
this  vile  adventurer,  this  Captain  Jack  Smith." 

"  Good  Heavens  !  "  cried  Sophia,  "Rupert,  do  not  tell 
me,  lest  I  swoon  away,  that  he  is  married  already  ? " 

"The  man,  my  dear,  whose  plots  to  compromise  and 
entangle  a  lovely  girl  you  have  favoured,  is  a  villain  of 
the  deepest  dye — a  pirate." 

"Oh  !  "  shivered  Sophia  with  fascinated  misery — thrill- 
ing recollections  of  last  night's  reading  shooting  through 
her  frame. 

"  A  smuggler,  a  criminal,  an  outlaw  in  point  of  fact," 
pursued  Mr.  Landale.  "  He  merely  seeks  Madeleine  for 
her  money — has  a  wife  in  every  port,  no  doubt — " 

Miss  Landale  did  not  swoon  ;  but  her  brother's  watch- 
ful eye  was  satisfied  with  the  effect  produced,  and  he 
went  on  in  a  well  modulated  tone  of  suppressed  emotion  : 

"And  after  breaking  her  heart,  ruining  her  body  and 
soul,  dragging  her  to  the  foulest  depths  he  would  have 
cast  her  away  like  a  dead  weed — perhaps  murdered  her  ! 
Sophia,  what  would  your  feelings  be  then  ?  " 

A  hard  red  spot  had  risen  to  each  of  Miss  Landale's 
cheek  bones  ;  her  tears  had  dried  up  under  the  fevered 
glow. 

"We  believed,"  she  said  trembling  in  every  limb,  "  that 
he  was  working  on  a  mission  to  the  French  court — ■" 
17 


258  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

"  Faugh — "  cried  Mr,  Landale,  contemptuously, 
"smuggling  French  brandy  for  our  English  drunkards 
and  traitorous  intelligence  for  our  French  enemies  !  " 

"Such  a  handsome  young  man,  so  gentlemanly,  such 
an  air!"  maundered  the  miserable  woman  between  her 
chattering  teeth.  "It  was  quite  accidental  that  we  met, 
Rupert,  quite  accidental,  I  assure  you.  Madeleine — poor 
dear  girl — came  down  with  me  here,  I  wanted  to  show 

her  the  g-grave "  here  Sophia   gurgled  convulsively, 

remembering  her  brother's  cruel  reproaches. 

"Well?" 

"She  came  here  with  me,  and  as  I  was  kneeling  down, 
planting  crocuses  just  here,  Rupert,  and  she  was  stand- 
ing there,  a  young  man  suddenly  leaped  over  the  wall, 
and  fell  at  her  feet.  He  had  not  seen  me — Alas,  it  re- 
minded me  of  my  own  happiness  !  And  he  was  so  well- 
dressed,  so  courteous — and  seemed  such  a  perfect  gentle- 
man— and  he  took  off  his  hat  so  gracefully  I  am  sure  I 
never  could  have  believed  it  of  him.  And  they  confided 
in  me  and  I  promised  by — by — those  sacred  ashes  to 
keep  their  secret.  I  remembered  of  course  what  Tanty 
had  said  in  her  letter,  and  quite  understood  he  was  the 
young  gentleman  in  question — but  they  explained  to  me 
how  she  was  under  a  wrong  impression  altogether.  He 
said  that  the  instant  he  laid  eyes  upon  me,  he  saw  I  had 
a  feeling  heart,  and  he  knew  they  could  trust  me.  He 
spoke  so  nobly,  Rupert,  and  said  :  What  better  place 
could  they  have  for  their  meetings  than  one  consecrated 
to  such  faithful  love  as  this  ?  It  was  so  beautiful — and 
oh  dear  1  I  can't  but  think  there  is  some  mistake."  And 
Miss  Landale  again  wrung  her  hands. 

"But  I  have  proof!"  thundered  her  brother,"  convinc- 
ing proof,  of  what  I  have  told  you.  At  this  very  moment 
the  man  who  would  marry  Madeleine,  forsooth,  runs  the 
risk  of  imprisonment — nay,  of  the  gallows  !  You  may 
have  thought  it  strange  that  I  should  have  opened  and 
read  letters  not  addressed  to  me,  but  with  misfortune 
hanging  over  a  beloved  object  I  did  not  pause  to  con- 
sider myself.      My  only  thought  was  to  save  her." 

Here  Mr.  Landalelooked  very  magnanimous,  and  thrust 
his  fingers  as  he  spoke  through  the  upper  buttons  of  his 
waistcoat  with  the  gesture  which  traditionally  accom- 
panies   such    sentiments :    these    cheap    efifeets    proved 


THE  DAWN  OF  AN  EVENTFUL  DAY     259 

generally  irresistible  with  Sophia.  But  his  personality 
had  paled  before  the  tremendous  drama  into  which  the 
poor  romance-loving  soul  was  so  suddenly  plunged,  and 
in  which  in  spite  of  all  her  woe  she  found  an  awful  kind 
of  fascination.  Failing  to  read  any  depth  of  admiration 
in  her  roving  eye,  Rupert  promptly  abandoned  grandilo- 
quence, and  resuming  his  usual  voice  and  manner,  he 
dropped  his  orders  upon  her  heat  of  agitation  like  a  cool 
relentless  stream  under  which  her  last  protest  fizzed, 
sputtered,  and  went  out. 

"  I  mean  to  unmask  the  gay  lover  at  my  own  time  and 
in  my  own  way  ;  never  fear,  I  shall  deal  gently  with  her. 
You  will  now  take  this  letter  of  his  and  put  it  in  your  bag, 
leaving  hers  in  that  curious  post-office  of  yours." 

"Yes,  Rupert." 

"And  you  will  give  his  letter  to  her  at  once  when  you 
go  in  without  one  word  of  having  met  me." 

"  Y  .   ...   yes,  Rupert." 

"As  you  are  too  great  a  fool  to  be  trusted  if  you  once 
begin  to  talk,  you  will  have  a  headache  for  the  rest  of  the 
day  and  go  to  bed  in  a  dark  room." 

"  Y  .  .   .   .   yes,  Rupert." 

"You  will  moreover  swear  to  me,  now,  that  you  will 
not  speak  of  our  interview  here  till  I  give  you  leave ;  say 
I  swear  I  will  not." 

"I  swear  I  will  not." 

"So  help  me  God!" 

"Oh,  Rupert." 

"  So  help  me  God,  you  fool !  " 

Sophia's  lips  murmured  an  inaudible  something  ;  but 
there  was  such  complete  submission  in  every  line  and 
curve  of  her  figure,  in  the  very  droop  of  her  ringlets  and 
the  helpless  appeal  of  her  gaze  that  Rupert  was  satisfied. 
He  assisted  her  to  arise  from  her  tombstone,  bundled  the 
clerical  love-tokens  back  into  the  bag,  duly  placed  Cap- 
tain Jack's  letter  in  the  inner  pocket,  and  was  about  to 
present  her  with  his  arm  to  conduct  her  homewards,  when 
he  caught  sight  of  a  little  ragged  urchin  peeping  through 
the  bars  of  the  gate,  and  seemingly  in  the  very  act  of 
making  a  mysterious  signal  in  the  direction  of  Miss  Lan- 
dale's  unconscious  figure. 

Rupert  stared  hard  at  the  ruddy,  impudent  face,  which 
instantly  assumed  an  appearance  of  the  most  defiant  un- 


26o  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

concern,  while  its  owner  began  to  devote  his  energies  to 
shying  stones  at  an  invisible  rook  upon  the  old  church 
tower  with  great  nicety  of  aim. 

"Sophia,"  said  her  brother  in  alow  tone,  "go  to  the 
gate  :  that  boy  wants  to  speak  to  you.  Go  and  see  what 
he  wants  and  return  to  me." 

Miss  Landale  gasped,  gazed  at  her  brother  as  if  she 
thought  him  mad,  looked  round  at  the  little  boy,  coloured 
violently,  then  meeting  Rupert's  eye  again  staggered  off 
without  a  word  of  protest. 

Rupert,  shaken  with  silent  laughter,  humming  a  little 
song  to  himself,  stooped  to  pick  a  couple  of  tender  spring 
flowers  from  the  border  beside  the  grave,  and  after  slip- 
ping them  into  a  button-hole  of  his  many  caped  overcoat, 
stood  looking  out  over  the  stretch  of  land  and  sea,  where 
Scarthey  rose  like  a  dream  against  the  sparkle  of  the  water 
and  the  exquisite  blue  of  the  sky. 

Presently  rapid  panting  breaths  and  a  shuffling  rustle  of 
petticoats  behind  him  informed  him  of  his  sister's  return. 

"So  you  are  there,  my  dear,"  he  said  loudly.  "One 
of  your  little  fishing  friends  from  the  village,  I  suppose — 
a  Shearman,  unless  I  am  mistaken.  Yes,  a  Shearman  ; 
I  thought  so.  Well,  shall  we  return  home  now .''  They 
will  be  wondering  what  has  become  of  us.  Pray  take 
my  arm."  Then  beneath  his  breath,  seeing  that  words 
were  struggling  to  Sophia's  lips,  "  Hold  your  tongue." 

The  small  ragged  boy  watched  their  departure  with  a 
derisive  grin,  and  set  off  at  a  brisk  canter  down  to  the 
shore,  jingling  some  silver  coin  in  his  pocket  with  relish 
as  he  went. 

When  Rupert  and  Sophia  had  reached  the  wood  the 
former  paused. 

"  Letter  or  message  .-*  " 

"  Oh,  Rupert,  it  was  a  letter  ;  had  I  not  better  destroy 
it .? " 

"  Give  it  to  me." 

A  hasty  scrawl,  it  seemed,  folded  anyhow.  Only  two 
or  three  lines,  yet  Rupert  conned  them  for  a  curiously 
long  time. 

"  My  darling,"  it  ran,  "meet  me  to-day  in  the  ruins  at 
noon.  A  misfortune  has  happened  to  me,  but  if  you 
trust  me,  all  will  still  be  well.— ^ Your  Jack/' 


THE  DAWN  OF  AN  EVENTFUL  DAY     261 

Mr.  Landale  at  length  handed  it  back  to  Sophia. 

"You  will  give  it  to  Madeleine  with  the  other,"  he  said 
briefly.  "Mention  the  fact  of  the  messenger  having 
brought  it."  And  then  in  a  terrible  bass  he  added,  "And 
remember  your  oath  !  " 

She  trembled ;  but  as  he  walked  onwards  through  the 
wood,  his  lips  were  smiling,  and  his  eyes  were  alight 
with  triumph. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

THE  DAY  :    MORNING 

The  appointment  of  a  regular  light-keeper  at  Scarthey, 
intended  to  release  Rene  and  old  Margery  from  their  exile, 
had  been  delayed  so  as  to  suit  the  arrangement  which 
was  to  leave  for  a  time  the  island  domain  of  Sir  Adrian 
at  the  disposal  of  Captain  Jack.  Meanwhile  Moggie's 
presence  greatly  mitigated  the  severity  of  her  husband's 
separation  from  his  master. 

On  his  side  the  sailor  was  in  radiant  spirits.  All 
worked  as  he  could  wish,  and  Sir  Adrian's  marriage,  be- 
sides being  a  source  of  unselfish  satisfaction,  was,  with 
regard  to  his  own  prospects,  an  unexpected  help  ;  for, 
his  expedition  concluded,  he  would  now  be  able  in  the 
most  natural  manner  to  make  his  appearance  at  Puhvick, 
an  honoured  guest  of  the  master,  under  the  pride  of  his 
own  name.  And  for  the  rest,  hope  unfolded  warm- 
coloured  visions  indeed. 

During  the  weeks  which  had  elapsed  since  Sir  Adrian's 
departure,  Captain  Jack's  visits  to  the  island  had  been 
fitful  and  more  or  less  secret — He  always  came  and  left 
at  night.  But  as  it  was  understood  that  the  place  was  his 
to  be  used  and  enjoyed  as  he  thought  best,  neither  his 
sudden  appearances  with  the  usual  heavy  travelling-bag, 
nor  his  long  absences  excited  any  disturbance  in  the 
arcadian  life  led  by  Ren^  between  his  buxom  young  wife 
and  the  old  mother — as  the  good-humoured  husband  now 
termed  the  scolding  dame. 

A  little  sleeping  closet  had  been  prepared  and  allotted 
to  the  use  of  the  peripatetic  guest  in  one  of  the  disused 
rooms  when  Rent's  own  accommodation  under  the  light 
tower  had  been  enlarged  for  the  new  requirements  of  his 
matrimonial  status.  And  so  Monsieur  the  Captain  (in 
Rent's  inveterate  outlandish  phraseology)  found  his 
liberty  of  action  complete.      Both  the  women's  curiosity 

262 


THE  DAY:    MORNING  263 

was  allayed,  and  all  tendency  to  prying  into  the  young 
stranger's  mysterious  purposes  amid  their  seclusion  con- 
demned  beforehand,  by  Rene's  statement :  that  Monsieur 
the  Captain  was  a  trusted  friend  of  the  master — one  in- 
deed (and  here  the  informant  thought  fit  to  stretch  a 
point,  if  but  slightly)  to  whom  the  Lord  of  Pulwick  was 
indebted,  in  bygone  days,  for  life  and  freedom. 

Except  when  weather-bound,  a  state  of  things  which  at 
that  time  of  year  occurred  not  unfrequently,  Rene  jour- 
neyed daily  as  far  as  the  Hall,  ostensibly  to  report  prog- 
ress and  take  possible  orders,  but  really  to  gratify 
himself  with  the  knowledge  that  all  was  well  with  the 
master. 

About  the  breakfast  hour,  upon  this  15th  of  March,  as 
Sir  Adrian  was  discussing  with  the  bailiff  sundry  matters 
of  importance  to  the  estate,  a  tap  came  to  the  door,  which 
he  recognised  at  once  as  the  Frenchman's  own  long  ac- 
customed mode  of  self-announcement. 

Since  he  had  assumed  the  reins  of  government,  the 
whilom  recluse  had  discovered  that  the  management  of 
such  a  wide  property  was  indeed  no  sinecure  ;  and  more- 
over— as  his  brother,  who  certainly  understood  such  mat- 
ters in  a  thoroughly  practical  manner,  had  warned  him — 
that  a  person  of  his  own  philosophical,  over-benevolent 
and  abstracted  turn  of  mind,  was  singularly  ill-fitted  for 
the  task.  But  a  strong  sense  of  duty  and  a  determination 
to  act  by  it  will  carry  a  man  a  long  way.  He  had  little 
time  for  dreaming  and  this  was  perhaps  a  providential 
dispensation,  for  Sir  Adrian's  musings  had  now  lost  much 
of  the  grave  placidity  born  of  his  long,  peaceful  residence 
in  his  Thelema  of  Scarthey.  The  task  was  long  and 
arduous  ;  on  sundry  occasions  he  was  forced  to  consult 
his  predecessor  on  the  arcana  of  landed  estate  govern- 
ment, which  he  did  with  much  simplicity,  thereby  giving 
Mr.  Landale,  not  only  inwardly  mocking  satisfaction,  but 
several  opportunities  for  the  display  of  his  self-effacing 
loyalty  and  superior  capacities. 

The  business  of  this  day  was  of  sufficiently  grave  mo- 
ment to  make  interruption  unwelcome — being  nothing 
less  than  requests  from  a  number  of  tenants  to  the  "  Good 
Sir  Adrian,"  "  the  real  master  come  to  his  own  again  " — 
for  a  substantial  reduction  of  rent ;  a  step  towards  which 
the  master's  heart  inclined,  but  which  his  sober  reason 


264  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

condemned  as  preposterous.  But  Rene's  countenance, 
as  he  entered,  betrayed  news  of  such  import  that  Sir 
Adrian  instantly  adjourned  the  matter  on  hand,  and,  when 
the  baihff  had  retired,  anxiously  turned  to  the  new-comer, 
who  stood  in  the  doorway  mopping  his  steaming  brow. 

"Well,  Renny,"  said  he,  "what  is  wrong?  Nothing 
about  your  wife — ?  " 

"No,  your  honour,"  answered  the  man,  "your  honour 
is  very  good.  Nothing  wrong  with  our  Moggie.  But  the 
captain I  ran  all  the  way  from  the  Shearmans." 

"No  accident  there,  I  hope." 

"I  fear  there  is,  your  honour.  The  captain — he  has 
been  attacked  this  morning." 

"  Not  wounded —  !  "  exclaimed  Sir  Adrian.  "  Not  dead, 
Renny  ?" 

"Oh  no,  your  honour,  well.  But  he  has,  I  fear,  killed 
one  of  the  men  ....   the  revenue  men — " 

Then,  seeing  his  master  start  aghast,  he  went  on  rapidly  ; 

"  Al  least  he  is  very  bad — but  what  for  did  he  come  to 
make  the  spy  upon  our  island  ?  We  have  left  him  at  the 
Shearmans — the  mother  Shearman  will  nurse  him.  But 
the  captain,  your  honour  " — the  speaker  lowered  his  voice 
to  a  whisper  and  advanced  a  step,  looking  round — "that 
is  the  worst  of  all,  the  captain  has  turned  mad,  I  believe 
— Instead  of  going  off  with  his  ship  and  his  crew,  (they 
are  safe  out  to  sea,  as  they  should  be)  he  remains  at 
Scarthey.  Yes — in  your  honour's  rooms.  He  is  walking 
up  and  down  and  clutching  his  hair  and  talking  to  him- 
self, like  a  possessed.  And  when  I  respectfully  begged 
him  to  consider  that  it  was  of  the  last  folly  his  having 
rested  instead  of  savino-  himself,  I  micfht  as  well  have 
tried  to  reason  a  mule.  And  so,  knowing  that  your 
honour  would  never  forgive  me  if  misfortune  arrived,  I 
never  drew  breath  till  I  reached  here  to  tell  you.  If  his 
honour  would  come  himself  he  might  be  able  to  make 
Mr.  his  friend  hear  reason — Your  honour  will  run  no  risk, 
for  it  is  only  natural  that  you  should  go  to  the  peel  after 
what  has  occurred — but  if  you  cannot  get  Mr.  the  captain 
to  depart  this  night,  there  will  arrive  to  us  misfortune — it 
is  I  who  tell  you  so, " 

"I  will  go  back  with  you,  at  once,"  said  Sir  Adrian, 
rising  much  perturbed.  "Wait  here  while  I  speak  to 
Lady  Landale. " 


THE  DAY:    MORNING  265 

Molly  was  standing  by  the  great  log  fire  in  the  hall, 
yawning  fit  to  dislocate  her  pretty  jaws,  and  teasing  the 
inert  form  of  old  Jim,  as  he  basked  before  the  flame, 
with  the  tip  of  her  pretty  foot.  She  allowed  her  eyes 
to  rest  vaguely  upon  her  husband  as  he  approached, 
but  neither  interrupted  her  idle  occupation  nor  en- 
deavoured to  suppress  the  yawn  that  again  distended 
her  rosy  lips. 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in  silence  ;  then  laying 
a  hand  upon   her  shoulder,    said  gently  :    "  My  child,  I 
am    called  back  to  Scarthey  and  must    leave  instantly. 
You — you  will  be  careful    of  yourself — amuse    yourself 
during  my  absence — it  may  be  for  two  or  three  days." 

Lady  Landale  raised  her  black  brows  with  a  fine  air  of 
interrogation,  and  then  gazed  down  at  the  old  dog  till 
the  lashes  swept  her  cheek,  while  a  mocking  dimple  just 
peeped  from  the  corner  of  her  mouth  and  was  gone  again. 
"Oh  yes,"  she  answered  drily,  "  I  shall  take  endless  care 
of  myself  and  amuse  myself  wildly.  You  need  have  no 
fear  of  that." 

Sir  Adrian  sighed,  and  his  hand  fell  listless  from  her 
shoulder. 

"Good-bye,  then,"  he  said,  and  stooped  it  seemed 
hesitatingly  to  lay  his  lips  between  the  little  dark  tendrils 
of  hair  that  danced  upon  her  forehead.  But  with  a  sudden 
movement  she  twitched  her  face  away.  "Despite  all 
the  varied  delights  which  bind  me  to  Pulwick,"  she  re- 
marked carelessly,  "  the  charms  of  Sophia  and  Rupert's 
company,  and  all  the  other  amusements — I  have  a  fancy 
to  visit  your  old  owl's  nest  again — so  we  need  not  waste 
sentiment  upon  a  tender  parting,  need  we?  " 

Sir  Adrian's  cheek  flushed,  and  with  a  sudden  light  in 
his  eyes  he  glanced  at  her  quickly ;  but  his  countenance 
faded  into  instant  melancholy  again,  at  sight  of  her  curl- 
ing lip  and  cold  amused  gaze. 

"Will  you  not  have  me  ?  "  she  asked. 

"If  you  will  come — you  will  be  welcome — as  wel- 
come," his  voice  shook  a  little,  "  as  my  wife  must  always 
be  wherever  I  am." 

"Ah — oh,"  yawned  Lady  Landale,  "  (excuse  me  pray 
— it's  becoming  quite  an  infirmity)  so  that  is  settled.  I 
hope  it  will  storm  to-night,  that  the  wind  will  blow  and 
howl — and  then  I  snuggle  in  the  feather  bed  in  that  queer 


266  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

old  room  and  try  and  fancy  I  am  happy  Molly  de  Save- 
naye  again." 

Adrian's  lip  quivered  ;  yet  in  a  second  or  two  he  spoke 
lightly.  "I  do  not  want  to  hurry  you,  but  I  have  to 
leave  at  once."  Then  struck  by  a  sudden  thought,  by 
that  longing  to  bring  pleasure  to  others  which  was  always 
working  in  him,  "  Why  not  let  Madeleine  come  with  you 
too?"  he  asked,  "she  could  share  your  room,  and — it 
would  be  a  pleasure  to  her  I  think."  He  sighed  as  he 
thought  of  the  trouble  in  store  for  the  lovers. 

Lady  Landale  grew  red  to  the  roots  of  her  hair  and 
shot  a  look  of  withering  scorn  at  her  husband's  uncon- 
scious face.  "It  would  be  charming,"  she  said,  sar- 
castically, "but  after  all  I  don't  know  that  I  care  to  go 
so  much — oh,  don't  stare  at  me  like  that,  for  goodness' 
sake  !  A  woman  may  change  her  mind,  I  suppose — at 
least,  in  a  trifle  here  and  there  if  she  can't  as  regards  the 
whole  comfort  of  her  life. — Well,  well,  perhaps  I  shall  go 
— this  afternoon — later — you  can  start  now.  I  shall 
follow — I  can  always  get  a  boat  at  the  Shearmans.  And 
I  shall  bring  Madeleine,  of  course — it  is  most  kind  and 
thoughtful  of  you  to  suggest  it.  Mon  Dieu,  I  have  a  hus- 
band in  a  thousand  !  " 

She  swept  him  a  splendid  curtsey,  kissed  her  hand  at 
him,  and  then  burst  out  laughing  at  the  pale  bewilder- 
ment of  his  face. 

When  Sir  Adrian  returned  to  the  morning-room,  he 
found  Rend,  half  hidden  behind  the  curtain  folds,  peering 
curiously  out  of  the  window  which  overlooked  the 
avenue.  On  his  master's  entrance,  the  man  turned  his 
head,  placed  his  finger  on  his  lip,  and  beckoned  him  to 
approach.  "If  I  may  take  the  liberty,"  said  he  with 
subdued  voice,  "will  his  honour  come  and  look  out, 
without  showing  himself?" 

And  he  pointed  to  a  group,  consisting  of  Mr.  Landale 
and  two  men  in  blue  jackets  and  cockaded  hats  of  semi- 
naval  appearance,  now  slowly  approaching  the  house. 
Mr.  Landale  was  listening  with  bent  head,  slightly 
averted,  to  the  smaller  of  his  two  companions — a  stout 
square-looking  fellow,  who  spoke  with  evident  volubility, 
whilst  the  other  followed  defferentially  one  pace  in 
rear.      Presently   the    trio    halted,  a  few  yards  from  the 


THE  DAY:    MORNING  267 

entrance,  and  Mr.  Landale,  cutting  designs  upon  the  sand 
with  the  end  of  his  stick  in  a  meditative  way,  appeared 
to  be  giving  directions  at  some  length,  on  the  conckision 
of  which  the  two  men,  touching  their  hats  with  much 
respect,  departed  together,  while  the  magistrate  pen- 
sively proceeded  on  his  way  to  the  house. 

"  Those,  your  honour,"  said  Rene,  ' '  were  with  him  that 
was  struck  in  the  fight  this  morning.  It  was  I  rowed 
them  over,  together  with  the  wounded.  I  left  them  at 
the  Shearmans,  and  slipped  away  myself  to  carry  the 
news.  If  I  might  take  upon  myself  to  advise,  it  would 
be  better  if  your  honour  would  come  with  me  now,  at 
once,  for  fear  Mr.  Landale  should  delay  us  by  questioning 
me — Mr,  Landale  being  a  magistrate,  as  I  heard  these 
men  say  ;  and  Moggie  has  assured  me  that  he  always  ar- 
ranges himself  for  knowing  when  I  arrive  from  the  island 
— ever  since  the  day  when  the  demoiselles  had  just  come, 
and  I  found  it  out.  Ever  since  then  he  has  not  liked  me, 
Mr.  Landale.  Come  away,  your  honour,  before  he  finds 
out  I  have  been  here  to-day." 

Following  upon  this  advice,  which  he  found  to  the 
point,  Sir  Adrian  left  his  house  by  a  back  passage  ;  and, 
through  a  side  garden,  found  his  way  to  the  coast  and  to 
the  fishing  village. 

The  wounded  man  who  had  not  recovered  conscious- 
ness, lay  in  the  brother  Shearman's  hut,  as  Rend  had  said, 
surrounded  by  such  uncouth  attendance  as  the  rude 
fisherfolk  could  dispense.  After  giving  directions  for  the 
summoning  of  medical  aid  and  the  removal,  if  it  should 
prove  advisable,  of  the  patient  to  the  Hall,  but  without  a 
single  comment  upon  the  unfortunate  occurrence.  Sir 
Adrian  then  took  the  road  of  the  peel. 

During  the  transit,  walking  rapidly  by  his  master's 
side,  across  the  now  bare  causeway,  Rene  gave  his  ac- 
count of  events. 

The  captain  (he  related)  after  three  days'  absence  had 
reappeared  the  night  before  the  last,  and  requested  him 
to  warn  the  womankind  not  to  be  alarmed  if  they  heard, 
as  no  doubt  they  would,  strange  noises  on  the  beach  at 
night.  He  was,  said  he,  storing  provisions  and  water 
for  the  forthcoming  journey,  and  the  water  in  the  well 
was  so  excellent  that  he  had  determined  to  take  in  his 
store.     Of  course  his  honour  understood  well   that  Rene 


268  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

did  not  concern  himself  in  these  matters ;  but  that  was 
the  explanation  he  conveyed  to  his  wife,  lest  she  should 
be  alarmed  and  wonder.  As  for  the  old  mother,  she  was 
too  deaf  to  be  awakened  out  of  sleep  by  anything  short 
of  the  trumpet  of  the  last  judgment. 

As  announced,  there  had  been  during  the  night  the 
noise  of  a  party  of  men  landing,  of  the  hoisting  and  roll- 
ing of  barrels  —  a  great  remue-menage  altogether  —  and  the 
next  morning,  that  was  yesterday,  the  captain  had  slept 
sound   in  his  bunk  till  late. 

During  several  hours  of  the  following  day,  he  had  some 
secret  work  to  do  in  the  caves  of  which  Ren^  had  shown 
the  ins  and  outs,  and  whilst  so  engaged  had  requested 
that  watch  should  be  kept  from  the  light-tower,  and  mes- 
sage sent  by  some  arranged  signal  should  any  one  ap- 
proach the  island.  But  no  one  had  come  near.  Whilst  at 
his  post,  the  watcher  had  heard  at  different  times  the  sound 
of  hammering ;  and  when  the  captain  had  come  to  relieve 
him,  the  good  gentleman  was  much  begrimed  with  dust 
and  hot  with  work,  but  appeared  in  excellent  humour. 
In  the  castle,  he  sang  and  whistled  for  joyfulness,  and 
made  jokes  with  Moggie,  all  in  his  kind  way,  saying  that 
if  he  were  not  to  be  married  himself  soon,  he  would  feel 
quite  indignant  and  jealous  at  the  happiness  of  such  a 
rascal  as  her  husband. 

Oh  !  he  was  happy  —  Monsieur  the  Captain  —  he  had 
brought  Moggie  a  beautiful  shawl ;  and  to  Ren6,  he  had 
given  a  splendid  watch,  telling  him  to  keep  count  of  the 
hours  of  his  unmerited  bliss.  Alas,  this  morning  all  had 
been  different  indeed  !  The  captain  looked  another  man  ; 
his  face  was  as  white  as  linen.  The  very  look  of  him 
would  have  told  any  one  that  a  misfortune  had  occurred. 
Ren6  did  not  quite  understand  it  himself,  but  this  is  what 
had  taken  place  : 

The  captain  had  left  Scarthey  on  foot  late  in  the  even- 
ing, and  when  he  returned  (he  was  not  long  away)  he 
bade  Rene  again  not  to  mind  what  he  heard  during  the 
night ;  and,  in  faith,  once  more  there  had  been  a  real 
noise  of  the  devil ;  men  coming  to  and  fro,  a  deal  of  row- 
ing on  the  water,  away  and  back  again,  in  the  early  night 
and  then  once  more  before  dawn. 

"  But  I  was  not  unquiet,"  said  Rent^,  "  I  knew  they  had 
come    for   the    remainder   of  what   ]\Ir.    Smith    *vas   pleased 


THE  DAY:   MORNING  269 

to  call  his  provisions.  From  our  room  I  could  see  by  the 
light  on  the  stairs  that  the  lamp  was  burning  well,  and 
Moggie  slept  like  a  child,  so  sound,  she  never  moved.  Just 
before  the  rising  sun,  I  had  got  up  and  put  out  the  lamp, 
and  was  going  to  bed  again,  when  there  came  thumps  of  the 
devil  at  the  lower  door.  Well  knowing  that  the  captain 
had  his  own  way  of  entering — for  he  had  spent  many  days 
in  finding  out  all  sorts  of  droll  passages  in  the  ruins — I 
was  quite  seized  ;  and  as  I  hurried  down,  the  thumps  came 
again  and  great  cries  for  the  lighthouse-keeper.  And,  your 
honour,  when  I  unbarred  the  door,  there  was  a  man  in 
uniform  whom  I  did  not  know,  and  he  asked  me,  grum- 
bling, if  I  knew  of  the  pretty  doings  on  the  beach,  whilst 
I  slept  like  pig,  he  said — Of  course  I  made  the  astonished 
as  his  honour  may  imagine  :  I  knew  nothing,  had  heard 
nothing,  though  my  heart  was  beating  like  to  burst  not 
knowing  what  was  coming.  Then  he  ordered  me  to  lend  a 
hand  and  bring  a  ladder  to  carry  away  one  of  his  men  who 
had  been  murdered  by  the  smugglers,  he  said.  And  there, 
on  the  sands,  in  front  of  the  small  cave  was  another  man, 
in  a  blue  coat  too,  watching  over  the  body  of  one  who  was 
stretched  out,  quite  tranquil,  his  face  covered  with  blood 
and  his  eyes  closed.  They  are  gone,  says  the  gross  man. 
And  I  was  glad,  as  your  honour  may  well  think,  to  see  the 
chaloupe  full  of  the  captain's  men  rowing  hard  towards 
the  vessel.  She  had  just  come  out  of  the  river  mouth 
and  was  doubling  round  the  banks.  We  carried  the  man 
on  his  ladder  to  the  kitchen  and  we  and  the  women  did 
all  we  could,  but  he  remained  like  a  log.  So  after  a  time 
the  two  men  (who  said  they  had  come  along  the  dyke 
soon  after  midnight,  on  foot,  as  they  thought  it  would  be 
more  secret,  and  had  watched  all  night  in  the  bent) 
wanted  to  eat  and  drink  and  rest.  They  had  missed  their 
game,  the  big  man  said  ;  they  had  been  sent  to  find  out 
what  sort  of  devil's  tricks  were  being  played  on  in  the 
island  unbeknown  to  Sir  Adrian  ; — but  it  was  the  devil's 
luck  altogether,  for  the  smugglers  had  slipped  away  and 
would  not  be  seen  in  this  part  of  the  world  again.  That 
is  the  way  the  fat  man  spoke.  The  other  had  nothing  to 
say,  but  swallowed  our  bacon  and  our  beer  as  if  he  did 
not  care.  And  then,  your  honour,  they  told  me  I  should 
have  to  lend  them  the  yawl  to  go  on  land,  and  go  myself 
to   help,    and  take   the  body  with  us.     And  as  he  was 


270  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

speaking-,  I  saw  Moggie  the  wife,  who  had  been  back- 
wards and  forwards  serving-  them,  looking  at  me  very- 
straight  but  without  blowing  a  word,  as  if  she  had  fear. 
And  all  at  once  I  felt  there  was  something  on  foot.  So  I 
drew  the  men  more  beer  and  said  I  would  see  after  the 
yawl.  Outside  the  door  the  wife  whispered  :  '  Upstairs, 
quick  !  Renny,'  and  she  herself  whisked  back  into  the 
kitchen  so  that  she  should  not  cause  suspicion  to  those 
others — Ah,  your  honour,  that  is  a  woman  !  " 

"Well,  well,"  interrupted  his  master,  anxiously. 

"Well,  1  went  upstairs,  four  by  four;  and  there,  in 
your  honour's  room,  without  an  attempt  to  conceal  him- 
self (when  any  moment  it  might  have  entered  into  those 
brigands'  heads  downstairs  to  search  the  place),  there 
was  Monsieur  the  Captain,  raging  up  and  down,  like  a 
wolf  in  cage,  as  I  had  the  honour  to  describe  before.  No 
wonder  Moggie  was  afraid  for  him.  A  woman  is  quick 
to  feel  danger  ahead.  He  looked  at  me  as  if  he  did  not 
know  me,  his  face  all  unmade.  '  You  know  what  has 
happened  ; '  he  says.  '  Am  I  not  the  most  unfortunate 
.....?  All  is  lost'  'With  respect,'  says  I  ;  'nothing 
is  lost  so  long  as  life  is  safe,  but  it  is  not  a  good  thing 
Monsieur  the  Captain  that  you  are  here,  like  this,  when 
you  should  be  on  your  good  ship  as  many  miles  away  as 
she  can  make.  Are  you  mad  ?  '  to  him  I  say,  and  he  to 
me,  'I  think  I  am.'  'At  least  let  me  hide  you,'  I  beg  of 
him,  'I  know  of  many  beautiful  places, '  and  so  for  the 
matter  of  that  does  he.  But  it  was  all  lost  trouble.  At 
length  he  sits  down  at  the  table  and  begins  to  write,  and 
his  look  brightens  :  '  You  can  help  me,  my  good  friend,' 
he  says  ;  *  I  have  a  hope  left — who  knows — who  knows,' 
— and  he  writes  a  few  lines  like  an  enraged  and  folds 
them  and  kisses  the  billet.  '  Find  means, '  says  he,  '  Rene, 
to  get  Johnny,  the  Shearman  boy,  to  take  this  to  the  old 
churchyard  and  place  it  in  the  place  he  knows  of ;  or, 
better  still,  should  he  chance  upon  Miss  Landale  to  give 
it  to  her.  He  is  a  sharp  rogue,'  says  he,  '  and  I  can  trust 
his  wits  ;  but  should  you  not  find  him,  dear  Ren^,  you 
must  do  the  commission  for  me  yourself.  Now  go — go,' 
he  cries,  and  pushes  me  to  the  stairs.  And,  as  I  dared 
remain  no  more,  I  had  to  leave  him.  Of  course  Monsieur 
the  Captain  has  not  been  here  all  this  time  without  telling 
me  of  his  hopes,  and  it  is  clear  that  it  is  to  bid  farewell 


THE  DAY:    MORNING  271 

to  Mademoiselle  Madeleine  that  he  is  playing  with  his 
life.  It  is  as  ill  reasoning  with  a  lover  as  a  lunatic  :  they 
are  the  same  thing,  Ma  foi,  but  I  trust  to  your  honour  to 
bring  him  to  his  senses  if  any  one  can.  And  so,  to  con- 
tinue, I  went  down  and  I  told  the  men  in  blue  the  boat 
was  ready,  we  carried  the  body ;  I  left  them  at  the  Shear- 
mans,  as  your  honour  knows.  I  found  Johnny  and  gave 
him  the  letter  ;  he  knew  all  about  what  to  do,  it  seemed. 
And  then  I  came  straight  to  the  Hall." 

"It  is  indeed  a  miserable  business  !  "  said  Sir  Adrian. 

Rend  heaved  a  great  sigh  of  sympathy,  as  he  noticed 
the  increasing  concern  on  his  master's  face. 

"  You  heard  them  mention  my  brother's  name  ?"  in- 
quired the  latter,  after  following  the  train  of  his  misgivings 
for  a  few  moments.  "  You  have  reason  to  think  that  Mr. 
Landale  knew  of  these  men's  errand  ;  other  reason,  I 
mean,  than  having  seen  them  with  him  just  now  ?  " 

Rene's  quick  mind  leaped  at  the  meaning  of  the 
question  : 

"  Yes,  your  honour.  '  Mr.  Landale  will  want  to  know 
of  this, '  says  the  fat  one  ;  '  though  it  is  too  late, '  he  says. " 
And  Rend  added  ruefully  :  "I  have  great  fear.  The 
captain  is  not  at  the  end  of  his  pains,  if  Mr.  Landale  is 
ranged  against  him  !  " 

Such  was  also  Sir  Adrian's  thought.  But  he  walked  on 
for  a  time  in  silence  ;  and,  having  reached  Scarthey, 
rapidly  made  his  way  into  the  peel. 

Captain  Jack  was  still  pacing  the  room  much  as  Rene 
had  described  when  Sir  Adrian  entered  upon  him.  The 
young  man  turned  with  a  transient  look  of  surprise  to  the 
new-comer,  then  waved  away  the  proffered  hand  with  a 
bitter  smile. 

"  You  do  not  know,"  he  said,  "  who  it  is  you  would 
shake  hands  with — an  outlaw — a  criminal.  Ah,  you  have 
heard  }     Then  Renny,  I  suppose,  has  told  you." 

"Yes,"  groaned  the  other,  holding  his  friend  by  both 
shoulders  and  gazing  sorrowfully  into  the  haggard  face, 
"  the  man  may  die — oh,  Jack,  Jack,  how  could  you  be  so 
rash  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say  how  it  all  happened,"  answered  Captain 
Jack,  falling  to  his  walk  to  and  fro  again  in  the  extremity 
of  his  distress,  and  ever  and  anon  mopping  his  brow.  "  I 
felt  such  security  in  this  place.     All  was  loaded  but  the 


2/2  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

last  barrel,  when,  all  of  a  sudden,  from  God  knows  where, 
the  man  sprang^  on  me  and  thrust  his  dark  lantern  in  my 
face.  '  It  is  Smith,'  I  heard  him  say.  I  do  believe  now 
that  he  only  wanted  to  identify  me.  No  man  in  his  senses 
could  have  dared  to  try  and  arrest  me  surrounded  by  my 
six  men.  But  I  had  no  time  to  think  then,  Adrian.  I 
imagined  the  fellow  was  leading  a  general  attack  .... 
If  that  last  barrel  was  seized  the  whole  secret  was  out  ; 
and  that  meant  ruin.  Wholesale  failure  seemed  to  menace 
me  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  my  success.  I  had  a  hand- 
spike in  my  hand  with  which  I  had  been  helping  to  roll 
the  kegs.  I  struck  with  it,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  ; 
the  man  went  down  on  the  spot,  with  a  groan.  As  he  fell 
I  leaped  back,  ready  for  the  next.  I  called  out,  '  Stretch- 
ers, lads  ;  they  want  to  take  your  captain  ? '  My  lads 
gathered  round  me  at  once.  But  there  was  silence  ;  not 
another  creature  to  be  seen  or  heard.  They  set  to  work 
to  get  that  last  blessed  bit  of  cargo,  the  cause  of  all  the 
misery,  on  board  with  the  rest ;  while  I  stood  in  the  grow- 
ing dawn,  looking  down  at  the  motionless  figure  and  at 
the  blood  trickling  into  the  sand,  trying  to  think,  to  settle 
what  to  do,  and  only  conscious  of  one  thing  :  the  intense 
wish  that  I  could  change  places  with  my  victim.  Can  you 
wonder,  Adrian,  that  my  brain  was  reeling  ?  You  who 
know  all,  all  this  means  to  me,  can  you  wonder  that  I 
could  not  leave  this  shore — even  though  my  life  depended 
on  it — without  seeing  her  again  !  Curwen,  my  mate, 
came  up  to  me  at  last,  and  I  woke  up  to  some  sort  of  rea- 
son at  the  idea  that  they,  the  crew  and  the  ship,  must  be 
removed  from  the  immediate  danger.  But  the  orders  I 
gave  must  have  seemed  those  of  a  madman  :  I  told  him 
to  sail  right  away  but  to  double  back  in  time  to  have  the 
schooner  round  again  at  twelve  noon  to-day,  and  then  to 
send  the  gig's   crew  to  pick  me  up   on    Pulwick    sand. 

*  Life  and  death,'  said   I   to  him,  and  he,   brave   fellow, 

*  Ay,  ay,  sir,'  as  if  it  was  the   most  simple  thing  in  the 
world,  and  off  with  him  without  another  word." 

"  What  imprudence,  what  imprudence  !  "  murmured 
Sir  Adrian. 

"  Who  knows  ?  None  will  believe  that  I  have  not 
seized  the  opportunity  of  making  my  escape  with  the 
others.  The  height  of  imprudence  may  become  the  height 
of  security.     I  have  as  yet  no  plan — but  it  will  come. 


THE  DAY:    MORNING  273 

My  luck  shall  not  fail  me  now  !  who  knows  :  nothing 
perhaps  is  damaged  but  an  excise  man's  crown.  Thank 
heaven,  the  wind  cannot  fail  us  to-day." 

"But,  meanwhile,  "urged  Sir  Adrian,  quite  unconvinced, 
highly  disturbed,  "that  treasure  on  board  ....  I  know 
what  has  been  your  motive.  Jack,  but  indeed  it  is  all  noth- 
ing short  of  insanity,  positive  insanity.  Can  you  trust 
your  men  ?  " 

"  I  would  trust  them  with  my  own  secrets,  willingly 
enough  ;  but  not  with  those  of  other  people.  So  they  do 
not  know  what  I  have  in  those  barrels.  Four  thousand 
golden  guineas  in  each  .  .  .  .!  No,  the  temptation  would 
be  too  terrible  for  the  poor  lads.  Not  a  soul  knows  that, 
beyond  you  and  me.  Curwen  has  charge  of  the  cargo, 
such  as  it  is.  But  I  can  answer  for  it  none  of  them  will 
dream  of  tampering  with  the  casks.  They  are  picked  men, 
sober,  trusty  ;  who  have  fought  side  by  side  with  me.  I 
am  their  best  friend.  They  are  mine,  body  and  soul,  I  be- 
lieve. They  do  know  there  is  some  risk  in  the  business, 
but  they  trust  me.  They  are  sure  of  treble  pay,  and  be- 
sides, are  not  troubled  with  squeamishness.  As  for  Curwen, 
he  would  go  to  hell  for  me,  and  never  ask  a  question. 
No,  Adrian,  the  scheme  was  perfect,  but  for  this  cursed 
blow  of  mine  this  morning.  And  now  it  is  a  terrible 
responsibility,"  continued  the  young  man,  again  Mnping 
his  forehead  ;  "  every  ounce  of  it  weighs  on  my  shoulders. 
But  it  is  not  that  that  distracts  me.  Oh,  Adrian  .... 
Madeleine  !  " 

The  elder  man  felt  his  heart  contract  at  the  utter  de- 
spairing of  that  cry. 

"  When  my  handspike  crashed  on  that  damned  inter- 
ferer's  skull,"  the  sailor  went  on,  "  I  felt  as  if  the  blow 
had  opened  an  unfathomable  chasm  between  her  and  me. 
Now  I  am  felon — yes,  in  law,  a  felon  !  And  yet  I  am  the 
same  man  as  yesterday.  I  shall  have  to  fly  to-night,  and 
may  never  be  able  to  return  openly  to  England  again. 
All  my  golden  dreams  of  happiness,  of  honour,  vanished 
at  the  sound  of  that  cursed  blow.  But  I  must  see  her, 
Adrian,  I  viiist  see  her  before  I  go.  I  am  going  to  meet 
her  at  noon,  in  the  ruins  of  Pulwick. " 

"Impossible  !  "  ejaculated  the  other  aghast.      "Listen, 
Jack,  unfortunate  man  !     When  I  heard  of  the — the  mis- 
fortune, andof  your  folly  in  remaining,  I  instantly  planned 
18 


274  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

a  last  meeting  for  you.  As  it  fell  out,  my  wife  has  a  fancy 
to  spend  the  night  here  :  I  have  asked  her  to  bring  her 
sister  with  her.  But  this  inconceivably  desperate  plan  of 
leaving  in  your  ship,  in  broad  light  of  day,  frustrates  all  I 
would  have  done  for  you.  For  God's  sake  let  us  contrive 
some  way  of  warning  the  P^re^nwe  off  till  midnight  ;  keep 
hidden,  yourself ;  do  not  wilfully  run  your  head  into  the 
noose  !  " 

But  the  young  man  had  stopped  short  in  his  tramping, 
and  stood  looking  at  his  friend,  with  a  light  of  hope  flam- 
ing in  his  eye. 

"You  have  done  that,  Adrian  !  You  have  thought  of 
that !  "  he  repeated,  as  if  mechanically.  A  new  whirl- 
wind of  schemes  rushed  through  his  mind.  For  a  while 
he  remained  motionless,  with  his  gaze  fixed  on  Sir  Adrian, 
putting  order  in  his  own  thoughts  with  that  genius  of  pre- 
cision and  swiftness  which,  in  strong  natures,  rises  to 
meet  a  crisis.  Then  advancing,  and  seizing  him  by  both 
hands  : 

"Adrian,"  he  cried,  in  something  more  like  his  own 
voice,  again,  ' '  I  shall  yet  owe  my  happiness  to  you,  to 
this  thought,  this  sublime  thought  of  your  heart  !  " 

And,  as  Sir  Adrian,  astounded,  unable  to  understand 
this  extremity  of  hopefulness,  following  upon  the  previous 
depth  of  misery,  stared  back  at  him,  speechless,  the  latter 
proceeded  in  still  more  surprising  fashion. 

' '  Now,  you  listen  to  me,  this  time.  I  have  been  selfish 
in  running  the  risk  of  having  you  mixed  up  in  my  dan- 
gerous affairs.  But,  God  is  my  witness,  I  acted  under 
the  belief  that  all  was  absolutely  secure.  Now,  however, 
you  must  do  nothing  more  that  might  implicate  you. 
Remember,  do  nothing  to  let  people  suspect  that  you  have 
seen  me  to-day.  Renny,  too,  must  keep  close  counsel. 
You  know  nothing  of  my  future  movements.  Remain 
herefor  a  while,  do  not  even  look  out  of  the  window  .  .  .  . 
I  fear  we  shall  not  meet  for  a  long  time.  Meanwhile, 
God  bless  you — God  bless  you  !  *' 

After  another  wrench  of  the  hands  he  held  in  his,  the 
sailor  released  them  and  fairly  ran  out  of  the  room,  with- 
out heeding  his  friend's  bewildered  expostulations.  At  the 
door  of  the  keep  he  met  Ren^  again.  And  after  a  brief  but 
earnest  colloquy,  the  man  whose  life  was  now  forfeit  to  the 
community  and  upon  whose  head  there  would  soon  be  a 


THE  DAY:    MORNING  275 

price,  was  quietly  walking  along  the  causeway,  making 
for  the  shore,  with  the  greatest  apparent  unconcern  and 
deliberation. 

And  whilst  Sir  Adrian,  alone  in  his  chamber,  with  his 
head  resting  upon  his  hand,  anxiously  pondered  upon  the 
possible  issues  of  this  nefarious  day's  doings,  the  sailor 
advanced,  in  broad  daylight  towards  the  land  to  keep  his 
appointment. 

A  solitary  speck  of  life  upon  the  greac  waste,  with  the 
consciousness  of  the  precarious  thread  of  chance  upon 
which  it  hung  !  What  wonder  that,  for  all  his  daring,  the 
traveller  felt,  as  he  deliberately  regulated  his  pace  to  the 
most  nonchalant  gait,  a  frantic  desire  to  run  forward,  or 
to  lie  down  !  How  many  approach  glasses  might  now  be 
laid,  like  so  many  guns,  upon  him  from  secret  points  of  the 
coast  until  he  came  within  range  of  recognition  ;  what 
ambushes  those  clumps  of  gorse  and  juniper,  those  planta- 
tions of  alders  and  young  firs  on  the  bluffs  yonder,  might 
conceal  ?  The  eye  could  reach  far  and  wide  upon  the 
immense  stretch  of  sand,  along  the  desert  coast ;  and  his 
solitary  figure,  moving  upon  the  yellow  strand  was  a  mark 
for  miles  around.  Steadily,  nevertheless  did  he  advance  ; 
the  very  daring,  the  unpardonable  foolhardiness  of  the 
deed  his  safety.  And  yet  the  strain  was  high.  Were  they 
watching  the  island?  Among  the  eager  crew,  to  each  of 
whom  the  capture  might  mean  a  splendid  prize  and  chance 
of  promotion,  was  there  one  would  have  the  genius  of 
suddenly  suspecting  that  this  foolhardy  wayfarer  might  be 
the  man  they  wanted  and  not  merely  Sir  Adrian  returning 
on  foot  towards  his  home  ?  .   .   .   .   And  then    came  the 

answer  of  hopeful  youth  and  hardy  courage . 

No.  The  preventive  are  a  lubberly  lot — It  will  require 
something  better  than  a  water-guard  to  track  and  take 
Lucky  Jack  Smith  ! 

But  for  all  his  assurance  Lucky  Jack  Smith  drew  a  long 
breath  of  relief  when  he  felt  the  shadow  of  Pulwick  woods 
closing  around  him  at  last. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
THE  DAY:    NOON 

There  stood  two  men  and  they  did  point  their  fingers  at 

that  house. 
And  on  his  finger  one  had  blood;  the  other's  finger  shook. 

Ljtteplayer' s  Song. 

Broken  lengths  of  wall,  a  crumbling-  indication  of  the 
spring  of  once  exquisite  arches,  windows  gaping  darkly 
like  the  eye  sockets  of  a  skull — this  was  all  that  was  left 
of  the  old  priory  of  Pulwick,  whilom  proud  seat  of  cleri- 
cal power  and  learning.  But  the  image  of  decay  was 
robbed  of  all  melancholy  by  the  luxuriance  of  climbing 
vegetation,  by  the  living  screen  of  noble  firs  and  larches 
arranged  in  serried  ranks  upon  the  slopes  immediately 
behind  it,  with  here  and  there  a  rugged  sentinel  within 
the  ruinous  yards  and  rooms  themselves  ;  by  wild  bushes 
of  juniper  and  gorse  and  brambles.  And,  with  the  bright 
noon  sun  pouring  down  upon  the  worn  red  sandstone, 
and  gilding  the  delicate  tassels  of  the  larches'  green 
needles  ;  with  the  light  of  young  love,  spreading  glamour 
upon  every  leaf  and  stone,  m  the  eyes  of  the  lovers,  the 
scene,  witness  of  so  many  sweet  meetings,  bore  that  day 
a  beautiful  and  homelike  aspect. 

Captain  Jack  was  standing  upon  the  grass-grown  floor 
of  what  had  been  the  departed  monks'  refectory,  with 
ears  eagerly  bent  to  listen. 

Three  ragged  walls,  a  clump  of  fir  trees,  and  a  bank  of 
brambles  screened  him  from  any  chance  passer-by,  and 
he  now  and  again  peered  through  a  crevice  on  to  a  path 
through  the  woods,  cautiously,  as  if  fearful  to  venture 
forth.  His  face  was  pale  beneath  its  tan,  and  had  none 
of  its  usual  brightness  ;  his  attire  for  him  was  disordered  ; 
his  whole  appearance  that  of  a  man  under  the  pressure  of 
doubt  and  anxiety.  Yet,  when  the  sound  of  a  light  foot- 
fall struck  among  the  thousand  whispering  noises  of  wind 

276 


THE  DAY:   NOON  277 

and  leaf  that  went  to  make  up  the  silence  of  the  ruins, 
the  glory  of  joy  that  lit  up  eye  and  lip  left  no  room  for 
any  other  impression. 

Madeleine  stood  in  the  old  door-way  :  a  vision  of 
beautiful  life  amid  emblems  of  decay  and  death. 

"  I  come  alone  to-day,"  she  said,  with  her  half-shy 
smile.  And  then,  before  she  could  utter  a  further  word 
of  explanation,  she  was  gathered  into  her  lover's  strong 
arms  with  a  passion  he  had  never  as  yet  shown  in  his 
chivalrous  relations  with  her.  But  it  was  not  because 
they  met  without  the  sympathetic  rapture  of  Miss  Lan- 
dale's  eye  upon  them  ;  not  because  there  was  no  other 
witnesses  but  the  dangling  ivy  wreath,  the  stern  old  walls, 
the  fine  dome  of  spring  sky  faintly  blue  ;  not  because  of 
lover's  audacious  joy.  This  Madeleine,  feeling  the  stormy 
throbbing  of  his  heart  against  hers,  knew  with  sure  in- 
stinct. She  pushed  him  gently  from  her  as  soon  as  she 
could,  the  blushes  chased  from  her  cheeks  by  pale  mis- 
givings, and  looked  at  him  with  eyes  full  of  troubled 
questioning. 

Then  he  spoke,  from  his  full  heart  : 

"  Madeleine,  something  has  happened — a  misfortune,  as 
I  wrote  to  you.  I  must  now  start  upon  my  venture  sooner 
than  I  thought — at  once.  I  shall  have  \.ofly  in  fact,  to-day. 
There  have  been  spies  upon  me,  and  my  secret  trust  is  in 
danger.  How  they  have  tracked  me,  how  suspicion  has 
been  aroused,  I  cannot  guess.  But  I  have  been  tracked. 
A  fellow  came  at  dawn.  I  had  to  defend  my  secret — the 
secret  not  my  own,  the  charge  entrusted  to  me.  The  man 
was  hurt.  I  cannot  explain,  dear  love,  there  is  no  time  ; 
even  now  I  run  the  risk  of  my  life  by  being  here,  and  life 
is  so  dear  to  me  now,  my  Madeleine  !  Hush  !  No,  do  not 
be  afraid  !  I  am  afraid  of  nothing,  so  long  as  you  trust 
me.  Will  you  trust  me .?  I  cannot  leave  you  here  behind  ; 
and  now,  with  this  cursed  stroke  of  ill-luck,  this  suspicion 
upon  me,  it  may  be  long  before  I  can  return  to  England. 
I  cannot  leave  you  behind,  I  cannot  !  Will  you  trust  me, 
Madeleine,  will  you  come  with  me  ?  We  shall  be  married 
in  France,  my  darling.  You  should  be  as  a  queen  in  the 
guard  of  her  most  humble  slave.  I  am  half  mad  to  think 
I  must  go.  Ah,  kiss  me,  love,  and  say  yes  !  Listen  !  I 
must  sail  away  and  make  believe  that  I  have  gone.  My 
Peregrine  is  a  bird  that  none  can  overtake,    but  I  shall 


2/8  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

come  back  to-night.  Listen  :  If  you  will  be  on  the  island 
to-night — Sir  Adrian  is  there  already,  and  I  hear  your 
sister  is  coming — a  freak  of  fancy — and  he,  God  bless  him, 
has  told  her  to  bring  you  too  (it  shows  my  luck  has  not 
deserted  me  yet).  I  shall  be  there,  unknown  to  all  except 
Renny.  I  cannot  meet  you  nearer  home,  but  you  will 
be  my  own  brave  bride  and  keep  your  own  counsel.  You 
will  not  be  frightened,  will  you,  my  beautiful  love.^  All 
you  have  to  do  is  to  follow  Renny's  instructions.  My 
ship  will  be  back,  waiting,  an  hour  after  dark,  ready, 
when  you  set  foot  on  it,  to  spread  its  wings  with  its 
treasures — treasures,  indeed  !  And  then  we  shall  have 
the  world  before  us — riches,  love,  such  love  !  And  once 
safe,  I  shall  be  free  to  prove  to  you  that  it  is  no  common 
blood  I  would  mate  w^ith  that  dear  and  pure  stream  that 
courses  in  your  veins.  You  shall  soon  know  all ;  will  you 
trust  me  ?  " 

She  hung  upon  his  hot  words,  looking  at  him  with 
loving,  frightened  eyes.  Now  he  gathered  her  to  his  arms 
again,  again  his  bursting  heart  throbbed  its  stormy  passion 
to  her  ear.  She  was  as  one  carried  away  by  a  torrent 
against  which  resistance  is  useless.  He  bent  his  head 
over  her  face  ;  the  scent  of  the  bunch  of  violets  in  her 
breast  rose  deliciously  to  his  nostrils.  Alas  !  Hubert 
Cochrane  was  not  to  reach  that  kiss  of  acquiescence,  that 
kiss  from  which  it  seemed  that  but  so  small  a  fraction  of 
space  and  time  divided  him  !  Someone,  who  had  stepped 
along  in  the  shadow  as  silently  as  a  cat  coming  upon  a 
bird,  clapped  here  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Who  are  you,  sir,  and  what  do  you  want .''  "  exclaimed 
Captain  Jack,  wrenching  himself  free,  falling  back  a  pace 
and  measuring  the  new-comer  from  head  to  foot  with 
furious  glances,  while,  with  burning  blushes  Madeleine 
faltered  : 

"Rupert!" 

Nothing  awakens  anger  in  hot  blood  sooner  than  an 
unsanctioned  touch.  In  certain  moods  the  merest  contact 
is  as  infuriating  as  a  blow.  Such  an  insult,  added  to  the 
irreparable  injury  of  interrupting  their  meeting  at  the  most 
exquisite  and  crucial  moment,  drove  Captain  Jack  beside 
himself  with  rage. 

But  Madeleine's  hand  was  still  on  his  arm.  She  felt 
it  suddenly  harden  and   twitch    with  murderous   anger. 


THE  DAY:    NOON  279 

But,  by  an  effort  that  made  the  veins  of  his  temple  swell 
like  whipcord,  he  refrained  from  striking  the  double 
offender. 

Mr,  Landale  surveyed  the  pair  for  a  moment  in  silence 
with  his  grave  look  ;  then  coldly  he  answered  the  sailor's 
irate  speech. 

"  My  name,  fellow,  is  Rupert  Landale.  I  am  here  to 
protect  my  cousin  from  an  unprincipled  and  criminal 
adventurer." 

"  You  take  a  sharp  tone  sir,"  cried  Captain  Jack,  the 
flush  on  his  face  deepening  yet  a  shade,  his  nostrils 
ominously  dilated,  yet  speaking  without  further  loss  of 
self-control.  "You  probably  count  upon  the  presence  of 
this  lady  to  prevent  my  resenting  it ;  but  as  my  time  with 
her  is  short  and  I  have  still  much  to  say,  I  shall  beforced 
promptly  to  eject  you  from  the  ruins  here,  unless  you  will 
be  good  enough  to  immediately  remove  yourself  I  shall 
hope  for  another  meeting  with  you  to  discuss  the  question 
as  to  your  right  of  interference  ;  but  to-day — 1  cannot 
spare  the  time." 

Rupert  smiled  without  moving  ;  then  the  sailor  gently 
disengaging  himself  from  Madeleine  would  have  put  her 
behind  him  but  that  she  pressed  forward  and  laid  a  hand 
upon  an  arm  of  each  of  the  men. 

"Stay,  Jack,"  she  pleaded,  "let  me  speak.  There  is 
some  mistake  here.  Cousin  Rupert,  you  cannot  know 
that  I  am  engaged  to  this  gentleman  and  that  he  is  a 
friend  of  your  brother's  as  well  as  of  other  good  friends 
of  mine." 

"  My  poor  child,"  answered  Rupert,  closing  a  cold 
hand  gently  over  hers  and  speaking  with  a  most  delicate 
tenderness  of  accent,  "you  have  been  grossly  imposed 
upon,  and  so  have  others.  As  for  my  poor  brother 
Adrian,  he  is,  if  anything,  easier  to  deceive  than  you, 
innocent  convent-bred  girl  !  I  would  have  you  to  go 
home,  my  dear,  and  leave  me  to  deal  with  this — gentle- 
man. You  have  bitter  truths  to  learn  ;  would  it  not  be 
better  to  wait  and  learn  them  quietly  without  further 
scandal  ? " 

This  was  too  much  for  Captain  Jack,  who  fairly  ground 
his  teeth.  Rupert's  honeyed  tones,  his  grasp  of  Made- 
leine's hand  were  more  unbearable  even  than  the  words. 
He  advanced  upon  the  elder  man  and  seizing  him   by 


28o  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

the  collar  whirled  him  away  from  the  girl  as  easily  as  a 
straw  puppet. 

The  fine  gentleman  of  sensitive  nerves  and  unworked 
sinews  had  no  chance  against  the  iron  strength  of  the 
man  who  had  passed  all  the  years  of  virility  fighting 
against  sea  and  storm.  The  two  faced  each  other ;  Jack 
Smith,  red  and  panting  with  honest  rage,  only  the  sense 
of  his  lady's  proximity  keeping  him  from  carrying  his 
high-handed  measures  a  little  further.  Mr.  Landale, 
livid,  with  eyes  suddenly  black  in  their  orbits,  moisten- 
ing his  white  lips  while  he  quivered  from  head  to  foot 
with  a  passion  so  tense  that  not  even  his  worst  enemy 
could  have  attributed  it  to  fear. 

An  unequal  match  it  would  seem,  yet  unequal  in  a 
way  that  the  young  man,  in  the  conscious  glory  of  his 
strength  could  not  have  conceived.  Madeleine  neither 
screamed  nor  fainted  ;  she  had  grown  white,  in  natural 
apprehension,  but  her  eyes  fixed  upon  her  lovers  face 
shone  with  admiration.  Mr.  Landale  turned  slowly 
towards  her. 

"Madeleine,"  he  said,  readjusting  his  stock  and 
smoothing  the  folds  of  his  collar  with  a  steadfast  striving 
after  coolness,  "you  have  been  grossly  deceived.  The 
man  you  would  trust  with  your  life  and  honour  is  a  mere 
smuggler.  He  has  no  doubt  told  you  fine  stories,  but 
if  he  has  given  himself  out  for  aught  else  he  lied,  take 
my  word  for  it — he  lied.  He  is  a  common  smuggler, 
and  the  vessel  he  M'^ould  carry  you  away  in  is  packed 
with  smuggled  goods.  To-day  he  has  attacked  and 
wounded  an  officer,  who,  in  the  discharge  of  his  duty, 
endeavoured  to  find  out  the  nature  of  his  suspicious 
purpose.  Your  would-be  lover's  neck  is  in  danger.  A 
felon,  he  runs  the  risk  of  his  life  every  moment  he  remains 
on  land — but  he  would  make  a  last  effort  to  secure  the 
heiress  !  Look  at  him,"  his  voice  raising  in  spite  of  him- 
self to  a  shriller  pitch — "  he  cannot  deny  it  !  " 

Madeleine  gazed  from  one  to  the  other.  Her  mind, 
never  a  very  quick  one  at  decision,  was  too  bewildered 
to  act  with  clearness  ;  moreover  with  her  education  and 
ignorance  of  the  world  the  indictment  conveyed  no 
special  meaning  to  her. 

But  there  was  an  agony  of  suspense  and  beseeching  in 
the    glance    that  her  lover  cast  upon  her ;    and  to   that 


THE  DAY:    NOON  281 

appeal  she  smiled  proudly.  Hers  were  no  true  love,  she 
felt,  were  its  confidence  shaken  by  the  slandering  of 
anger.  Then  the  thought  of  his  danger,  danger  admitted 
by  his  own  lips,  flashed  upon  her  with  terror.  She  rushed 
to  him, 

"Oh  go,  Jack,  go  ! — As  you  love  me,  go  !  " 

Mr.  Landale,  who  had  already  once  or  twice  cast 
impatient  looks  of  expectation  through  a  window  of  the 
east  wall,  taken  by  surprise  at  this  unforeseen  result  of 
his  speech,  suddenly  climbed  up  upon  a  broken  piece  of 
stone-work,  from  which  there  was  an  abrupt  descent 
towards  the  shore,  and  began  to  signal  in  eager  gesticu- 
lation. There  was  a  sound  of  heavy  running  footfalls 
without.  Captain  Jack  raised  his  head,  every  nerve  on 
the  alert. 

"Go,  go,"  again  cried  Madeleine,  dreading  she  knew 
not  what. — A  fat  panting  red  face  looked  over  the  wall ; 
Mr.  Landale  turned  for  a  second  to  throw  at  the  lovers  a 
glance  of  elation. 

But  it  seemed  as  if  the  sailor's  spirits  rose  at  the  breath 
of  danger.  He  rapidly  looked  round  upon  the  ruins  from 
which  there  were  no  other  outlets  than  the  window 
guarded  by  Mr.  Landale,  and  the  doorway  in  which  the 
red-faced  new-comer  now  stood,  framed  in  red  stone; 
then,  like  a  cat  he  darted  on  to  the  ledge  of  the  wall  at 
the  opposite  end,  where  some  invading  boughs  of  larch 
dropped  over  the  jagged  crest,  before  the  burly  figure  in 
the  blue  coat  of  the  preventive  service  had  recovered 
from  the  surprise  of  finding  a  lady  in  his  way,  or  gathered 
his  wits  and  his  breath  sufficiently  to  interfere. 

There  the  nimble  climber  stood  a  moment  balancing 
himself  lightly,  though  the  ivied  stones  rocked  beneath 
him. 

"I  go,  love,"  he  cried  in  ringing  voice,  "but  one  word 
from  you  and  I  go " 

"Oh,  I  trust  you!  I  will  trust  you!"  screamed  the 
girl  in  despair,  while  her  fascinated  gaze  clung  to  the 
erect  figure  silhouetted  against  the  sky  and  the  stout 
man  looked  up,  open-mouthed.  Mr.  Landale  snarled  at 
him  : 

"Shoot,  fool — shoot!"  And  straining  forward,  him- 
self drew  a  pistol  from  the  man's  belt,  cocked  it  and 
thrust  it  into  his  grasp. 


282  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

Captain  Jack  kissed  his  hand  to  Madeleine  with  a  joy- 
ful gesture,  then  waved  his  hat  defiantly  in  Rupert's 
direction,  and  with  a  spring  disappeared,  just  as  the 
pistol  cracked,  drawing  a  shriek  of  terror  from  the  girl, 
and  its  bullet  flattened  itself  against  the  upper  stone  of 
the  wall — considerably  wide  of  the  mark. 

"Come,   this  way !"  screamed  Mr.  Landale  from 

his  window  sill,  "  you  have  another  I  " 

But  the  preventive  shook  his  head,  and  thrust  his 
smoking  barrel  back  through  his  belt,  with  an  air  of 
philosophical  resignation  ;  and  slowly  approaching  the 
window,  through  which  the  fugitive  could  now  be  seen 
steadily  bowling  down  the  seaward  slope,  observed  in 
slow,  fat  tones  : 

"Give  you  a  hand,  sir?" 

Rupert,  thrusting  his  extended  arm  aside  jumped  down 
beside  him  as  if  he  would  have  sprung  at  his  throat. 

"Why  are  you  so  late.? — why  have  you  brought  no 
one  with  you  ?  I  gave  you  notice  enough.  You  fool ! 
You  have  let  him  slip  through  your  fingers,  now,  after 
all  !  Couldn't  you  even  shoot  straight  ?  Such  a  mark  as 
he  made  against  the  sky — Pah  !  well  may  the  sailors  say, 
lubberly  as  a  land  preventive !  " 

' '  Why,  there  you  are,  Mr.  Landale  !  "  answered  the 
man  with  imperturbable,  greasy  good-humour.  "The 
way  you  shoved  that  there  pistol  into  my  hand  was 
enough  to  put  off  anybody.  But  you  country  magistrate 
gentlemen,  as  I  have  always  said,  you  are  the  real  sort 
to  make  one  do  illegal  actions  with  your  flurry  and  your 
hurry  over  everything.  '  Shoot  !  '  says  you,  and  damme, 
sir,  if  I  didn't  shoot  straight  off  before  I  knew  if  I  were  on 
my  head  or  on  my  heels.  It's  a  mercy  I  didn't  hit  the 
sweet  young  lady — it  is  indeed.  And  as  for  the  young 
gentleman,  though  to  be  sure  he  did  show  a  clean  pair 
of  heels  at  the  sight  of  me,  I  had  no  proper  time  for 
i-dentification — no  time  for  i-den-ti-fi-cation,  Mr.  Landale, 
sir.  So  I  say,  sir,  it's  a  mercy  I  did  not  hit  him  either, 
now  I  can  think  of  it.  Ah,  slow  and  sure,  that's  my 
motter  !  I  takes  my  man  on  his  boat,  in  the  very  middle 
of  his  laces  and  his  brandy  and  his  silk — I  takes  him,  sir, 
in  the  very  act  of  illegality,  red-handed,  so  to  speak,  and 
then,  if  he  shows  fight,  or  if  he  runs  away,  then  I  shoots, 
sir,  and  then  if  I  hits,  why  it's  a  good  job  too — but  none 


THE  DAY:    NOON  283 

of  this  promiscuous  work  for  Augustus  Hobson.  Slow 
and  sure,  that's  my  motter." 

The  speaker  who  had  been  rolHng  a  quid  of  tobacco  in 
his  mouth  during  this  exposition  of  policy,  here  spat  em- 
phatically upon  the  grass,  and  catching  Madeleine's  ab- 
stracted eye,  begged  pardon  for  the  liberty  with  a  gallant 
air. 

"  Aye,  so  slow,  man,  that  you  are  pretty  sure  to  fail," 
muttered  Mr.  Landale. 

"I  knows  my  business,  sir,  meaning  no  offence,"  re- 
torted Mr.  Hobson  serenely.  "When  I  has  no  orders  I 
acts  on  regulation.  I  brought  no  one  with  me  because  I 
had  no  one  to  bring,  having  sent,  as  per  regulation,  my  one 
remaining  man  to  give  notice  to  the  water  service,  seeing 
that  that  there  schooner  has  had  the  impudence  to  come 
back,  and  is  at  this  very  moment  cruising  quite  happy- 
like just  the  other  side  of  the  bank  ;  though  if  ever  their 
cutter  overhauls  her — well,  I'm  a  Dutchman  !  You  might 
have  done  wiser,  perhaps  (if  I  may  make  so  bold  as  to 
remark),  to  leave  the  management  of  this  business  to  them 
as  understands  such  things.  As  to  being  late,  sir,  you 
told  me  to  be  in  the  ruins  at  twelve  noon,  and  I  beg  to 
insinuate  that  it's  only  just  past  the  hour  now." 

At  this  point  the  preventive  man  drew  from  his  capa- 
cious breeches  a  brass  time-piece,  of  congenial  stoutness, 
the  face  of  which  he  turned  towards  the  magistrate. 

The  latter,  however,  waved  the  proffered  witness  impa- 
tiently aside.  Furtively  watching  his  cousin,  who,  lean- 
ing against  the  door-post,  her  pale  head  thrown  out  in 
strong  relief  by  the  dark  stones,  stood  as  if  absolutely  de- 
tached from  her  surroundings,  communing  over  troubled 
thoughts  with  her  own  soul,  he  said  with  deliberate  dis- 
tinctness : 

"But  have  I  been  misled,  then,  in  understanding  that 
you  were  with  the  unfortunate  officer  who  was  so  fero- 
ciously assaulted  this  morning.?  that  you  and  he  did 
come  upon  this  Captain  Smith,  red-handed  as  you  call  it, 
loading  or  unloading  his  vessel  on  Scarthey  Island.?" 

"Aye,  sir,"  rolled  out  the  other,  unctuously,  "there 
you  are  again,  you  see.  Poor  Nat  Beavor,  he  was  one 
of  your  hot-headed  ones,  and  see  what  it  has  brought  him 
to — a  crack  in  his  skull,  sir,  so  that  it  will  be  days  before 
he'll  know  himself  again,  the  doctor  says,  if  ever  he  does 


284  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

in  this  world,  which  I  don't  think.  Ah,  I  says  to  him, 
when  we  started  in  the  dawn  this  morning  agreeable  to 
our  arrangement  with  you  :  '  For  peeping  and  prying  on 
the  quiet  without  any  running  risks  and  provokino^  others 
to  break  the  law  more  than  they're  doing,  I'm  your  man,' 
says  I  ;  '  but  as  for  attacking  desperate  individles  without 
proper  warrant  and  authority,  not  to  speak  of  being  one 
to  ten,  I  tell  you  fair,  Nat  Beavor,  I'll  have  nothing  to 
do  with  it.'  But  Nat,  he  went  off  his  head,  clean,  at  the 
sight  of  Captain  Jack  and  his  men  a  trundling  the  little 
kegs  down  the  sands,  as  neat  and  tidy  as  could  be  ;  and 
so  he  cut  out  from  behind  the  rocks,  and  I  knew  there 
was  mischief  ahead  !  Ah,  poor  fellow,  if  he  would  only 
have  listened  to  me  !  I  did  my  best  for  him,  sir  ;  started 
off  to  call  up  the  other  man,  who  was  on  the  other  side 
of  the  ruins,  as  soon  as  I  saw  his  danger,  but  when  I 
came  back " 

"The  birds  were  flown,  of  course,"  interrupted  Rupert 
with  a  sneer,  "  and  you  found  the  body  of  your  comrade 
who  had  been  dastardly  wounded,  and  who,  I  hear,  is 
dead  now.  So  the  villain  has  twice  escaped  you.  Cousin 
Madeleine,"  hastily  breaking  off  to  advance  to  the  girl, 
who  now  awakening  from  her  reflective  mood  seemed 
about  to  leave  the  rums,  "Cousin  Madeleine,  are  you 
going .''     Let  me  escort  you  back." 

She  slowly  turned  her  blue  eyes,  burning  upon  him 
from  her  white  face.  "Cousin  Rupert,  I  do  not  want 
your  company."  Then  she  added  in  a  whisper,  yet  with 
a  passion  for  which  Rupert  would  never  have  given  her 
credit  and  which  took  him  vastly  by  surprise,  "I  shall 
never  forgive  you. '' 

"  My  God,  Madeleine,"  cried  he,  with  genuine  emo- 
tion, ' '  have  I  deserved  this  ?  I  have  had  no  thought  but 
to  befriend  you,  I  have  opened  your  eyes  to  your  own 
danger " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  sir,"  she  broke  in,  with  the  same 
repressed  anger.  "  Cease  vilifying  the  man  I  love.  All 
your  aspersions,  your  wordy  accusations  will  not  shake 
my  faith  in  him.  Mofi  Di'cu,"  she  cried,  with  an  unsteady 
attempt  at  laughter,  looking  under  her  lashes  and  tilting 
her  little  white  round  chin  at  Mr.  Hobson,  who,  now 
seated  upon  a  large  stone,  and  with  an  obtrusive  quid  of 
tobacco  bulging  in  an  imperfectly  shorn  cheek,  was  mop- 


THE  DAY:    NOON  285 

ping  his  forehead  with  a  doubtful  handkerchief.  "  That 
is  the  person,  I  suppose,  whose  testimony  I  am  to  believe 
against  my  Jack  !  " 

"  Your  Jack  was  prompt  enough  in  running  away 
from  him,  such  as  he  is,"  retorted  her  cousin  bitterly. 
He  could  not  have  struck,  for  his  purpose,  upon  a  weaker 
joint  in  her  poor  woman's  armour  of  pride  and  trust. 

She  caught  her  breath  sharply,  as  if  indeed  she  had 
received  a  blow.  "  Well,  say  your  say,"  she  exclaimed, 
coming  to  a  standstill  and  facing  him  ;  "I  will  hear  all 
that  you  and  your — your  friend  have  to  say,  lest,"  with  a 
magnificent  toss  of  her  head,  "  you  fancy  I  am  afraid,  or 
that  I  believe  one  word  of  it  all.  I  know  that  Jack — 
that  Captain  Smith,  as  he  is  called — is  engaged  upon  a 
secret  and  important  mission  ;  but  it  is  one,  Rupert, 
which  all  English  gentlemen  should  wish  to  help,  not 
impede." 

"Do  you  know  what  the  mission  is — do  you  know  to 
whom  ?  And  if,  my  fair  cousin,  it  is  such  that  all  Eng- 
lish gentlemen  would  help,  why  then  this  secrecy?  " 

She  bit  her  lip;  but  it  trembled.  "What  is  it  you 
accuse  him  of.?  "  she  asked,  with  a  stamp  of  her  foot. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  said  Rupert  gently,  "it  is  the  kinder 
thing  that  you  should  know  the  truth,  and  believe  me, 
every  word  I  say  I  can  substantiate.  This  Captain  Jack 
Smith,  whatever  his  real  name  may  be,  was  picked  up 
when  a  mere  boy  by  an  old  Liverpool  merchant,  starving 
in  the  streets  of  that  town.  This  merchant,  by  name 
Cochrane,  an  absurd  person  who  gave  himself  out  to  be 
a  relative  of  Cochrane  of  Shaws,  adopted  the  boy  and 
started  him  upon  a  slaver,  that  is  a  ship  which  does  trade 
in  negro  slaves,  my  dear — a  pretty  trade.  He  next  en- 
tered a  privateer's  ship  as  lieutenant.  You  know  what 
these  are — ocean  freebooters,  tolerated  by  government 
for  the  sake  of  the  harm  they  wreck  upon  the  ships  of 
whatever  nation  we  may  happen  to  be  at  war  with — a 
sort  of  pirate  ship — hardly  a  much  more  reputable  busi- 
ness than  the  slaver's  ;  but  Captain  Smith  made  himself  a 
name  in  it.  Now  that  the  war  is  over,  he  has  taken  to  a 
lower  traffic  still — that  of  smuggling." 

"■ 'QxiX  what  is  smuggling?"  cried  the  girl,  tears  brim- 
ming up  at  last  into  her  pretty  eyes,  and  all  her  heat  of 
valiance  suddenly  gone.      "What  does  it  mean  ?  " 


286  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

"  What  is  smuggling?  Bless  your  innocence!  I  beg 
your  pardon,  my  dear — miss  I  should  say — but  if  you'll 
allow  me  I  think  I'm  the  man  to  explain  that  'ere  to  you." 
The  husky  mellifluous  tones  of  the  preventive-service 
man,  who  had  crept  up  unnoticed  to  listen  to  the  con- 
versation, here  murmured  insinuatingly  in  her  ear. 

Rupert  hesitated  ;  then  reading  shrinking  aversion  upon 
Madeleine's  face,  shrewdly  conjectured  that  the  exposi- 
tion of  her  lover's  doings  might  come  with  more  force 
from  Mr.  Hobson's  lips  than  from  his  own,  and  allowed 
the  latter  to  proceed  unmolested. 

"  Smuggling,  my  pretty,"  wheezed  the  genial  represent- 
ative of  the  custom  laws,  "  again  asking  pardon,  but  it 
slipped  out,  smuggling  is,  so  to  say,  a  kind  of  stealing,  a 
kind  of  cheating  and  that  of  a  most  rank  and  heinous 
kind.  For,  mind  you,  it  ain't  stealing  from  a  common 
man,  nor  from  the  likes  of  you  and  me,  nor  from  a  no- 
bleman eithe  :  it's  cheating  and  stealing  from  his  most 
gracious  Majesty  himself.  For  see  you,  how  'tis,  his 
Majesty  he  says,  'Every  keg  of  brandy,'  says  he,  'and 
every  yard  of  lace  and  every  pipe  o'  tobacco  as  is  brought 
into.this  here  country  shall  be  paid  for,  so  much  on,  to 
me,  and  that's  called  a  tax,  miss,  and  for  that  there  are 
the  custom  houses  and  custom  officers — which  is  me — to 
see  his  Majesty  paid  right  and  proper  his  lawful  dues. 
But  what  does  your  smuggler  do,  miss — your  rollicking, 
dare-devil  chap  of  a  smuggler?  Why  he  lands  his  lace 
and  his  brandy  and  his  'baccy  unbeknownst  and  sells  'em 
on  the  sly — and  pockets  the  profit  !  D'ye  see  ? — and  so 
he  cheats  his  Majesty,  which  is  a  very  grievous  breaking 
of  the  law  ;  so  much  so  that  he  might  as  well  murder  at 
once — Kind  o'  treason,  you  may  say — and  that's  what 
makes  'em  such  desperate  chaps.  They  knows  if  they're 
caught  at  it,  with  arms  about  them,  and  two  or  three 
together — it's — clck. " 

Mr.  Hobson  grasped  his  own  bull  neck  with  an  un- 
pleasantly significant  gesture  and  winked  knowingly  at 
the  girl,  who  turned  white  as  death  and  remained  gazing 
at  him  with  a  sort  of  horrified  fascination  which  he  pres- 
ently noted  with  an  indulgent  smile. 

"Don't  take  on  now,  my  lass — no  offence,  miss — but 
I  can't  bear  to  see  a  fine  young  'oman  like  you  upset-like 
— I'm  a  damned,   hem,   hem,  a  real  soft  hearted   fellow. 


THE  DAY:    NOON  287 

Your  sweetheart's  heels  have  saved  his  gullet  this  time — 
and  though  he  did  crack  poor  Nat  upon  the  skull  (as  I 
can  testify  for  I  as  good  as  saw  him  do  it — which  makes 
it  a  hanging  matter  twice  over  I  won't  deny),  yet  there's 
a  good  few  such  as  him  escapes  the  law  and  settles  down 
arter,  quite  respectable-like.  A  bit  o'  smuggling  now  is 
a  thing  many  a  pretty  fellow  has  taken  to  in  his  day,  and 
has  made  a  pretty  penny  out  of  too,  and  is  none  the 
worse  looked  to  arter,  as  I  said.  Aye,  and  there's  many 
a  gentleman  and  a  magistrate  to  boot  as  drinks  his  glass 
of  smuggled  brandy  and  smokes  his  smuggled  baccy  and 
finds  them  none  the  worse,  oh  dear  no  !  Human  nature 
it  is  and  human  nature  is  a  queer  thing.  Even  the  ladies, 
miss,  are  well-known  to  be  soft  upon  the  smuggled  lace  : 
it's  twice  as  cheap  you  see  as  t'other,  and  they  can  get 
double  as  handsome  for  the  money.  Begging  your  par- 
don— if  I  may  make  so  bold — "  stretching  out  a  great, 
coarse,  tobacco-stained  finger  and  thumb  to  close  them 
appreciatively  upon  the  hanging  lace  of  Madeleine's  neck 
handkerchief,  "may  be  your  spark  brought  you  that 
there,  miss,  now?  He,  he,  he — as  pretty  a  bit  of  French 
point  it  is  as  has  ever  been  my  fate  to  lay  hands  on — 
Never  fear,"  as  the  girl  drew  back  with  a  gesture  of  loath- 
ing from  the  contact.  "  I  ain't  agoing  to  seize  it  off  you 
or  take  you  up,  he — he — he — eh,  Mr.  Landale  f  I'm  a 
man  o'  my  duty,  1  hope,  but  our  orders  don't  run  as  far 
as  that." 

"  Rupert !"  cried  Madeleine,  piteously  turning  a  dark 
gaze  of  anguish  at  him — it  seemed  as  if  she  were  going 
to  faint. 

He  hastened  up  to  her,  shouldering  the  clumsy  form  of 
Mr.  Augustus  Hobson  unceremoniously  out  of  the  way  : 
the  fellow  had  done  his  work  for  the  time  being,  and  this 
last  piece  of  it  so  efficaciously  indeed  that  his  present 
employer  felt,  if  not  remorse,  at  least  a  certain  pity  stir 
within  him  at  the  stricken  hopelessness  of  the  girl's 
aspect.  He  passed  his  arm  round  her  waist  as  she 
shivered  and  swayed.  "Lean  on  me,"  he  said,  his  fine 
eyes  troubled  with  an  unwonted  softness  and  anxiety. 

"Rupert,"  she  whispered,  clutching  at  his  sleeve, 
eagerly  fixing  him  with  a  look  eloquent  of  unconscious 
pleading,  "all  these  things  this — this  man  talks  of  are 
things  which  are  brought  into  England — are  they  not?    I 


288  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

kno^v  that — he  was  bringing  nothing  into  the  country, 
but  he  was  going  to  another  country  upon  some  im- 
portant trust,  the  nature  of  which  he  had  promised  not  to 
reveal.  Therefore  he  cannot  be  cheating  the  King,  if 
that  is  smuggling — Oh  Rupert,  is  there  not  some  grievous 
mistake  ? " 

"  INIy  poor  child,"  said  Rupert,  holding  her  close  and 
tenderly,  and  speaking  with  a  gentle  gravity  in  which 
there  was  this  time  less  hypocrisy,  "there  is  one  thing 
which  is  smuggled  out  of  England,  and  it  is  as  dishonest 
and  illegal  work  as  the  other,  the  most  daring  and  dan- 
gerous smuggling  of  all  in  fact ;  one  in  which  none  but 
a  desperate  man  would  engage — that  of  gold. " 

"Yes,  gold,'"  exclaimed  the  girl  sharply,  withdrawing 
herself  from  her  cousin's  arms,  while  a  ray  of  intelligence 
and  hope  lit  up  her  face.  "  Gold  for  the  French  King's 
service." 

Rupert  betrayed  no  emotion  ;  he  drew  from  the  inner 
pocket  of  his  coat  a  crushed  news-sheet. 

"  Deceived  there,  as  well  as  everywhere  else,  poor  little 
cousin,"  he  said.  "And  did  the  scoundrel  say  so.?  Nay, 
he  is  a  damnable  scoundrel  who  could  betray  your  trust- 
fulness to  your  own  sweet  face.  Gold  indeed — but  not 
for  the  King — gold  for  the  usurper,  for  the  tyrant  who  was 
supplied  already,  no  doubt,  by  the  same  or  similar  traitor 
hands  with  enough  to  enable  him  to  escape  from  the 
island  where  he  was  so  justly  imprisoned.  See  here, 
Madeleine,  Bonaparte  is  actually  landed  in  France  :  it  has 
all  been  managed  with  the  most  devilish  ingenuity  and 
takes  the  whole  world  by  surprise.  And  your  lover, 
doubtless,  is  engaged  upon  bringing  him  fresh  supplies 
to  enable  him  to  begin  again  and  rack  humanity  with 
hideous  wars.  Oh,  he  never  told  you  of  the  Corsican's 
escape,  yet  this  news  is  three  days  old.  See  you,  my 
dear,  this  explains  the  whole  mystery,  the  necessity  for 
absolute  secrecy  ;  all  England  is  friendly  to  the  French 
monarch;  no  need  to  smuggle  gold  for  his  aid — but  the 
other.  .  .  .  !  It  is  treason,  the  blackest  treason  on  every 
side  of  it,  treason  to  his  King,  to  his  country,  to  your 
King,  to  you.  And  he  would  have  cozened  you  with  tales 
of  his  loyalty  to  the  rightful  cause  !  " 

"  Give  me  the  paper,"  said  Madeleine.  A  tide  of  blood 
had  swept  into  her  face ;  she  was  no  longer  white  and 


THE  DAY:    NOON  289 

shaken,  but  erect  and  beautiful  in  strong  indignation. 
Rupert  examined  her,  as  if  a  little  doubtful  how  to  take 
the  sudden  change  ;  but  he  handed  her  the  printed  sheet 
in  silence.  She  read  with  lips  and  nostrils  expanded  by 
her  quick  breathing  ;  then  crumpled  up  the  sheet  and  cast 
it  at  his  feet.  And  after  a  pause,  with  her  princess  air  of 
dignity,  "I  thank  you,  cousin  Rupert,"  she  said  ;  then, 
passing  him  with  stately  steps,  moved  towards  the  house. 

He  pressed  forward  to  keep  up  with  her ;  and  upon  the 
other  side,  smiling,  irrepressible,  jocose,  Mr.  Hobson  did 
the  same. 

"You  are  not  fit  to  go  alone,"  urged  the  former,  while 
the  latter  engagingly  protruding  an  elbow,  announced 
that  he'd  be  proud  to  give  her  an  arm  as  far  as  the  Hall. 

She  drew  away  from  this  well-meaning  squire  of  dames 
with  such  shuddering  distaste,  and  looked  once  more  so 
white  and  worn  and  sickened  after  her  sudden  blaze  of 
passion,  that  Mr.  Landale,  seeing  that  the  only  kindness 
was  to  let  her  have  her  will,  arrested  his  companion 
roughly  enough,  and  allowed  her  to  proceed  as  she 
wished. 

And  so,  with  bent  head,  Madeleine  hurried  forth.  And 
the  same  glorious  sun  smiled  down  upon  her  in  her  an- 
guish that  had  greeted  her  when  she  hastened  an  hour 
before  glowing  and  light-hearted — if,  indeed,  a  heart  so 
full  of  love  could  be  termed  light — to  meet  her  lover  ;  the 
same  brambles  caught  her  dress,  the  same  bird  trilled  his 
song.  But  Madeleine  thought  neither  of  ray  nor  leaf,  nor 
yet  of  mating  songsters  :  all  the  spring  world,  as  she  went, 
was  to  her  strewn  with  the  wreck  of  her  broken  hopes, 
and  encompassed  by  the  darkness  of  her  lonely  future. 

Mr.  Landale  and  the  preventive  service  man  stood  some 
time  watching  her  retreating  figure  through  the  wood, 
and  then  walked  slowly  on  for  a  while,  in  silent  com- 
pany. 

Presently  the  latter,  who  during  the  last  part  of  the  in- 
terview, had  begun  to  feel  a  little  ruffled  by  the  magis- 
trate's persistently  overbearing  manner,  inquired  with 
something  of  dudgeon  in  his  voice  :  "  Begging  your 
pardon,  sir,  what  was  that  I  heard  the  young  lady  call 
out  just  now?     'Gold!'  she  cries.     Is  it  guineas   that 

19 


290  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

nipping  young  man  is  a  taking  over  seas,  if  I  may  make 
so  bold?  Now  you  see,  sir,  we  haven't  had  no  orders 
about  no  gold  on  this  station — that  sort  of  thing  is  mostly 
done  down  south.  But  what  I  wants  to  know  is  :  Why, 
if  you  knew  all  about  the  fellow's  little  games,  you  sent 
us  to  spy  on  him  ?  Ah,  poor  Nat  would  want  a  word  or 
two  with  you  on  that  score,  I  fancy  !  Now  it's  as  plain 
as  Salisbury  .   .   .   .    " 

"  But  I  know  nothing  certain,"  impatiently  interrupted 
Mr.  Landale.  "I  know  no  more  than  you  do  yourself. 
Only  not  being  a  perfect  idiot,  I  can  put  two  and  two 
together.  What  in  the  name  of  goodness  can  a  man 
smuggle  out  of  England  but  gold  ?  But  I  wanted  the 
proofs.  And  your  business,  it  was  agreed  with  the  Chief 
Officer,  was  to  follow  my  instructions." 

"And  so  we  did,"  grumbled  Mr.  Hobson  ;  "  and  a  pretty 
business  it's  turned  out !  Nat's  to  pocket  his  bludgeoning, 
I  suppose,  and  I  am  to  bear  the  blame  and  lose  my  share. 
A  cargo  of  guineas,  by  God  !  I  might  hav^e  nosed  it, 
down  south,  but  here  ....  Blast  it !  But  since  you  was 
so  clever  over  it,  sir,  why  in  blazes — if  I  may  speak  so  to 
a  gentleman  and  a  magistrate,"  pursued  the  man  with  a 
rueful  explosion  of  disgust,  "  didn't  you  give  mei\\Q  hint? 
Why,  guineas  is  contraband  of  war — it's  treason,  sir — and 
guineas  is  a  cargo  i\\-^\!s  fought  for,  sir  !  I  shouldn't  have 
moved  with  two  men  in  a  boat  patrol,  d'ye  think  ?  I 
should  have  had  the  riding  officers,  and  the  water-guard, 
and  a  revenue  cruiser  in  the  offing,  and  all  tight  and 
regular.  But  you  would  have  all  the  credit,  and  where  are 
you  ?  and  where  s  my  share?  and  where  is  Nat? — Bah  !  " 

"  You  are  forgetting  yourself,  officer,"  said  Mr.  Landale, 
looking  severely  into  the  eyes  of  the  disappointed  pre- 
ventive man,  whose  rising  ebullition  became  on  the  in- 
stant reduced. 

"So  I  am,  sir,  so  I  am — and  beg  your  pardon.  But 
you  must  admit,  it's  almost  enough  to  make  ....  but 
never  mind,  sir,  the  trick  is  done.  Whatever  it  may  be 
that  that  there  schooner  carries  in  her  bottom,  she  is  free 
now  to  take  it,  barring  accident,  wherever  she  pleases. 
I'll  trouble  you  to  look  this  way,  sir." 

They  had  emerged  from  the  wooded  part  of  the  park, 
and  the  rising  ground  on  which  they  stood  commanded  a 
wide  sea-view,  west  of  the  great  bay. 


THE  DAY:    NOON  291 


<  <  • 


There  she  is  again,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Hobson,  waving  his 
broad  paw,  like  a  showman  displaying  his  goods,  with  a 
sort  of  enraged  self-satisfaction.  "  There  is  the  schooner, 
ready  to  hoist  sail  as  soon  as  he  comes  alongside.  And 
that  there  black  point  which  you  may  see,  if  your  eyes  are 
good  enough,  is  a  six-oared  galley  with  as  ship-shaped  a 
crew — if  it's  the  same  as  I  saw  making  off  this  morning — 
as  ever  pulled.  Your  Captain  Smith,  you  may  take  your 
oath,  is  at  the  tiller,  and  making  fun  of  us  two  to  the  lads. 
In  five  minutes  he  will  be  on  board,  and  then  the  revenue 
cutter  from  the  station  may  give  chase  if  she  likes  I  .  .  .  . 
And  there  she  is,  due  to  the  time — about  a  mile  astern. 
But  bless  you,  that's  all  my  eye,  you  may  take  your  oath  ! 
They  know  well  enough  that  in  an  open  sea  they  can't 
run  down  a  Salcombe  schooner.  But  to  earn  their  pay 
they  will  hang  on  till  they  lose  her,  and  then  sail  home, 
all  cosy. — I'm  thinking,"  he  added  slily,  with  a  side  glance 
at  the  magistrate  :   "we  won't  hang  him  /his  time." 

Mr.  Landale  made  no  answer  ;  during  the  last  few 
minutes  his  reflections  had  enabled  him  to  take  a  new 
view  of  the  situation.  After  all  the  future  fate  of  Captain 
Jack  was  of  little  moment.  He  had  been  successfully 
exposed  before  Madeleine,  whose  love  for  the  young  man 
was,  as  had  just  been  sufficiently  proved,  chiefly  composed 
of  those  youthful  illusions  which  dispelled  once,  never 
can  return. 

Rupert  fell  gradually  into  a  reverie  in  which  he  found 
curious  satisfaction.  His  work  had  not  been  unsuccess- 
ful, whatever  Mr.  Hobson's  opinion  might  be.  But,  as 
matters  stood  between  Madeleine  and  her  lover,  the  girl's 
eyes  had  been  opened  in  time,  and  that  without  scan- 
dal  And  even   the  escape  of  Captain   Jack  was, 

upon  reflection,  the  best  thing  that  could  have  happened. 

And  so  it  was  with  a  return  to  his  usual  polite  bearing, 
that  he  listened  to  the  officer's  relapse  into  expostulation. 

"Now  if  you  had  only  given  me  the  hint  first  of  all," 
the  man  was  grumblingly  saying,  '*  and  then  let  me  act 
— for  who  would  have  suspected  a  boat,  yacht-rigged  like 
that? — A  friend  of  Sir  Adrian's,  too  !  If  you'd  only  left 
it  to  me !  Why  that  six-oared  galley  alone  is  agin  the 
law  unless  you  can  prove  good  reason  for  it  ....  as 
for  the  vessel  herself  .  .   .   ." 

"Yes,  my  dear  Mr.  Hobson,"  interrupted  Mr.  Landale, 


292  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

smiling  propitiously.  "  I  have  no  doubt  you  would  have 
secured  him.  I  have  made  a  mess  of  it.  But  now  you 
understand,  least  said,  soonest  mended,  both  for  me  and 
(between  ourselves,  Mr.  Hobson)  for  the  young  lady." 

The  man,  in  surprise  at  this  sudden  alteration  of  man- 
ner, stopped  short  and  gaped  ;  and  presently  a  broad 
smile,  combined  with  a  knowing  wink,  appeared  on  his 
face.  He  received  the  guineas  that  Mr.  Landale  dropped 
in  his  palm  with  an  air  of  great  candour,  and,  without 
further  parley,  acted  on  the  kind  advice  to  repair  to  the 
Priory  and  talk  with  one  Mrs.  Puckett  the  housekeeper, 
on  the  subject  of  corporeal  refreshment. 

"Well,"  said  Molly,  bursting  in  upon  her  sister,  who 
sat  by  her  writing-table,  pen  in  hand,  and  did  not  even 
raise  her  head  at  the  unceremonious  entrance.  "  This  is 
evidently  the  day  for  mysterious  disappearances.  First 
Rupert  and  Sophia  ;  then  my  lord  and  master  who  is 
fetched  hurriedly  to  his  island  (that  isle  of  misfortune  !) 
God  knows  for  what — though  /mean  to  know  presently  ; 
then  you.  Mademoiselle,  and  Rupert  again.  It  is,  faith, 
quite  a  comedy.  But  the  result  has  been  that  I  have  had 
my  meals  alone,  which  is  not  so  gay.  Sophia  is  in  bed, 
it  turns  out ;  Rupert  out  a-riding,  on  important  business. 
of  course !  all  he  does  is  desperately  important.  And 
there  you  are — alone  in  your  room,  moping.  God,  child, 
how  pale  you  are  !     What  ails  you  then  ?  " 

"Molly,"  cried  Madeleine,  ignoring  Lady  Landale's 
question  and  feverishly  folding  the  written  sheet  which 
lay  under  her  hand,  "if  you  love  me,  if  ever  you  loved 
me,  will  you  have  this  letter  conveyed  by  a  safe  messen- 
ger to  Scarthey,  and  given  to  Rend — to  none  but  Rene, 
at  once  .''  Oh,  Molly,  it  will  be  a  service  to  me,  you  little 
guess  of  what  moment  !  " 

"  Voyez  un  peu  !  "  said  Lady  Landale  coolly.  "  What 
trust  in  Molly,  all  at  once  !  Aha,  I  thought  it  would  come. 
If  I  love  you  ?  Hum,  I'm  not  so  sure  about  that.  If  ever 
I  loved  you  i* — a  droll  sort  of  plea,  in  truth,  considering 
how  you  have  requited  my  love  !  " 

Madeleine  turned  a  dazed  look  upon  her  sister,  who 
stood  surveying  her,  glowing  like  a  jewel  of  dazzling 
radiance,  from  her  setting  of  black  mantle  and  black 
plumed  hat.      "  So  you   will  not !  "  she  answered  hope- 


THE  DAY:    NOON  293 

lessly,  and  let  her  forehead  fall  upon  her  hand  without 
further  protest. 

"But  I  did  not  say  I  would  not — as  it  happens  I  am 
going  to  the  island  myself.  How  you  stare — oh  you  re- 
member now  do  you?  Who  told  you  I  wonder? — of 
course,  such  a  couple  as  we  are,  Adrian  and  I,  could  not 
be  divided  from  each  other  for  over  half  a  day,  could  we  ? 
By  the  way,  I  was  to  convey  a  gracious  invitation  to  you 
too.  Will  you  come  with  me  ? — No  ? — strange  girl.  So 
even  give  me  the  letter,  I  will  take  it  to — no,  not  to  Rene, 
'tis  addressed  to  Captain  Smith,  I  see.  Dear  me — you 
don't  mean  to  say,  Madeleine,  that  you  are  corresponding 
with  that  person  ;  that  he  is  near  us  ?  What  would  Tanty 
say  ? " 

"Oh,  Molly,  cease  your  scoffs,"  implored  poor  Made- 
leine, wearily.  "You  are  angry  with  me,  well,  now  rejoice, 
for  I  am  punished — well  punished.  Oh,  I  would  tell  you 
all  but  I  cannot  !  my  heart  is  too  sick.  See,  you  may  read 
the  letter,  and  then  you  will  understand — but  for  pity's 
sake  go — Do  not  fail  to  go  ;  he  will  be  there  on  the  island 
at  dark — he  expects  me — Oh,  Molly  !  I  cannot  explain — 
indeed  I  cannot,  and  there  is  no  time,  it  will  soon  be  dusk  ; 
but  there  is  terrible  danger  in  his  being  there  at  all." 

Molly  took  the  letter,  turned  it  over  with  scornful 
fingers  and  then  popped  it  in  her  pocket.  "  If  he  expects 
you,"  she  asked,  fixing  cold,  curious  eyes  on  her  sister's 
distress,  "  and  he  is  in  danger,  why  do7i/  you  go?  " 

A  flush  rose  painfully  to  Madeleine's  face,  a  sob  to  her 
throat.  "  Don't  ask  me,"  she  murmured,  turning  away 
to  hide  her  humiliation.  "I  have  been  deceived,  he  is 
not  what  I  thought." 

Lady  Landale  gazed  at  the  shrinking  figure  for  a  little 
while  in  silence.  Then  remarking  contemptuously  : 
"Well  you  are  a  poor  creature,"  turned  upon  her  heel  to 
leave  her.  As  she  passed  the  little  altar,  she  paused  to 
whisk  a  bunch  of  violets  out  of  a  vase  and  dry  the  stems 
upon  her  sister's  quilt. 

''Molly,"  cried  Madeleine,  in  a  frenzy,  "give  me  back 
my  letter,  or  go." 

"  I  go,  I  go,"  said  Lady  Landale  with  a  mocking  laugh. 
"  How  sweet  your  violets  smell ! — There,  do  not  agitate 
yourself :  I'm  going  to  meet  your  lover,  my  dear.  I  vow 
I  am  curious  to  see  the  famous  man,  at  last. " 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  NIGHT 

So  the  blood  burned  within  her, 
And  thus  it  cried  to  her : 
And  there,  beside  the  maize  field 
The  other  one  was  waiting — 
He,  the  mysterious  one. 

Luteplayer's  Song. 

The  mantle  of  night  had  already  fallen  upon  the  land 
when  Lady  Landale,  closely  wrapped  in  her  warmest 
furs,  with  face  well  ensconced  under  her  close  bonnet, 
and  arms  buried  to  the  elbow  in  her  muff,  sallied  from 
her  room  on  the  announcement  that  the  carriage  was 
waiting.  As,  with  her  leisurely  daintiness,  she  tripped  it 
down  the  stairs,  she  crossed  ]\Ir.  Landale,  and  paused  a 
moment,  ready  for  the  skirmish,  as  she  noticed  the  cyni- 
cal curiosity  with  which  he  examined  her. 

"Whither,  my  fair  sister,"  said  he,  ranging  himself 
with  his  best  courtesy  against  the  bannisters,  "so  late  in 
the  day  ?  " 

"  To  my  lord  and  master's  side,  of  course,"  said  Molly. 

"Why — is  not  Adrian  coming  back  to-night?  " 

"Apparently  not,  since  he  has  graciously  permitted  me 
to  join  him  upon  his  rock.  I  trust  you  will  not  find  it  too 
unhappy  in  our  absence  :  that  would  be  the  crowning 
misfortune  of  a  day  when  everything  seems  to  have  gone 
wrong.  Sophia  invisible  with  her  vapours  ;  Madeleine 
with  the  megrim  ;  and  you  in  and  out  of  the  house  as 
excited  and  secret  as  the  cat  when  she  has  licked  all  the 
cream.  I  suppose  I  shall  end  by  knowing  what  it  is  all 
about.  Meanwhile  I  think  I  shall  enjoy  the  tranquillity 
of  the  island — although  I  have  actually  to  tear  myself 
away  from  the  prospect  of  a  tete-^-tete  evening  with 
you." 

But   as    Rupert's  serenity  was  not  to  be  moved,    her 

294 


.    THE  NIGHT  295 

ladyship  hereupon  allowed  herself  to  be  escorted  to  the 
carriage  without  further  parley. 

As  she  drove  away  through  the  dark  night,  first  down 
the  level,  well-metalled  avenue,  then  along  the  uneven 
country  road,  and  finally  through  the  sand  of  the  beach 
in  which  hoofs  and  tyres  sank  noiselessly,  inches  deep, 
Molly  gave  herself  up,  with  almost  childish  zest  to  the 
leaven  of  imagination Here,  in  this  dark  car- 
riage, was  reclining,  not  Lady  Landale  (whose  fate  deed 
had  already  been  signed,  sealed  and  delivered  to  bring 
her  nothing  but  disappointment),  but  her  happier  sister, 
still  confronted  with  the  fascinating  unknown,  hurrying 
under  cover  of  night,  within  sound  of  the  sea,  to  that  en- 
thralling lure,  a  lover — a  real  lover,  ardent,  daring,  young, 
ready  to  risk  all,  waiting  to  spread  the  wings  of  his  boat, 
and  carry  her  to  the  undiscovered  country. 

Glowing  were  these  fleeting  images  of  the  "might  have 
been,"  angry  the  sudden  relapses  into  the  prose  of  reality. 

No,  Madeleine,  the  coward,  who  thought  she  had  loved 
her  lover,  was  now  in  her  room,  weak  and  weeping, 
whilst  he,  no  doubt,  paced  the  deck  in  mad  impatience 
(as  a  lover  should),  now  tortured  by  the  throes  of  anxiety, 
now  hugging  himself  with  the  thought  of  his  coming 
bliss  ....  that  bliss  that  never  was  to  be  his.  And  in 
the  carriage  there  was  only  Molly,  the  strong-hearted  but 
the  fettered  by  tie  and  vow,  the  slave  for  ever  of  a  first 
girlish  fancy  but  too  successfully  compassed  ;  only  Lady 
Landale  rejoining  her  husband  in  his  melancholy  soli- 
tude ;  Lady  Landale  who  never — never!  awful  word! 
would  know  the  joys  which  yonder  poor  fool  had  had 
within  her  grasp  and  yet  had  not  clutched  at. 

Molly  had  read,  as  permitted,  her  sister's  letter,  and  to 
some  purpose  ;  and  scorn  of  the  girl  who  from  some 
paltry  quibble  could  abandon  in  danger  the  man  she 
professed  to  love,  filled  her  soul  to  the  exclusion  of  any 
sisterly  or  ever  womanly  pity. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  the  carriage  was  stopped  by 
the  black  shadow  of  a  man,  who  seemed  to  spring  up 
from  the  earth,  and  who,  after  a  few  rapid  words  inter- 
changed with  the  coachman,  extinguished  both  the 
lights,   and  then  opened  the  door. 

Leaning  on  the  offered  elbow  Molly  jumped  down  upon 
the  yielding  sand. 


296  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

"Ren^?"  she  asked;  for  the  darkness  even  on  the 
open  beach  was  too  thick  to  allow  of  recognition. 

"Rene,  your  ladyship — or  Mademoiselle  is  it?"  an- 
swered the  man  in  his  unmistakable  accent.  "I  must 
ask  ;  for,  by  the  voice  no  one  can  tell,  as  your  ladyship, 
or  Mademoiselle  knows — and  the  sky  is  black  like  a 
chimney." 

"  Lady  Landale,  Rene,"  and  as  he  paused,  she  added, 
"  My  sister  would  not  come." 

"Ah,  mo7i  Dieti  /  She  would  not  come,"  repeated  the 
man  in  tones  of  dismay ;  and  the  black  shadow  was 
struck  into  a  moment  of  stillness.  Then  with  an  audible 
sigh  Mr.  Potter  roused  himself,  and  saying  with  melan- 
choly resignation,  "The  boat  is  there,  I  shall  be  of  return 
in  a  minute,  My  Lady,"  took  the  traveller's  bag  on  his 
shoulder  and  disappeared. 

The  carriage  began  to  crunch  its  way  back  in  the  dark- 
ness and  Molly  was  left  alone. 

In  front  of  her  was  a  faint  white  line,  where  the  rollers 
spread  their  foam  with  mournful  restless  fugue  of  long 
drawn  roar  and  hissing  sigh. 

In  the  distance,  now  and  then  glancing  on  the  crest  of 
the  dancing  billows,  shone  the  steady  light  of  Scarthey. 
The  rising  wind  whistled  in  the  prickly  star-grass  and  sea- 
holly.  Beyond  these,  not  a  sight,  not  a  sound — the  earth 
was  all  mystery. 

Molly  looked  at  the  light — marking  the  calm  spot  where 
her  husband  waited  for  her  ;  its  very  calm,  its  familiar 
placidity,  monotony,  enraged  her ;  she  hearkened  to  the 
splashing,  living  waves,  to  the  swift  flying  gusts  of  the 
storm  wind,  and  her  soul  yearned  to  their  life,  and  their 
mysteriousness. 

What  she  longed  for,  she  herself  could  not  tell.  No 
words  can  encompass  the  desire  of  pent-up  young  vitality 
for  the  unknown,  for  the  ideal,  for  the  impossible.  But 
one  thing  was  overpoweringly  real  :  that  was  the  dread 
of  leaving  just  then  the  wide,  the  open  world  whose 
darkness  was  filled  to  her  with  living  scenes  of  freedom 
and  space,  and  blood-stirring  emotions  ;  of  re-entering 
the  silent  room  under  the  light ;  of  consorting  with  the 
shadowy  personality,  her  husband  ;  of  feeling  the  web  of 
his  melancholy,  his  dreaminess,  imprison  as  it  were  the 


THE  NIGHT  297 

wings  of  her  imagination  and  the  thoughtful  kindness  of 
his  gaze,  paralyse  the  course  of  her  hot  blood  through 
her  veins. 

And  yet,  thither  she  was  going,  must  be  going  !  Ah 
Madeleine,  fool — you  may  well  weep,  yonder  on  your 
pillow,  for  the  happiness  that  was  yours  and  that  you 
have  dropped  from  your  feeble  hands  ! 

In  a  few  minutes  the  black  shadow  re-appeared  close 
to  her. 

"If  My  Lady  will  lean  on  my  shoulder,  I  shall  lead  her 
to  the  boat."  And  after  a  few  steps,  the  voice  out  of  the 
darkness  proceeded  in  explanation  :  "I  have  not  taken 
a  lantern,  I  have  put  out  those  of  the  carriage,  for  I  must 
tell  My  Lady,  that  since  what  arrived  this  morning,  there 
may  be  gabelous — they  call  them  the  preventive  here — in 
every  corner,  and  the  light  might  bring  them,  as  it  does 
the  night  papilions,  and  ....  as  I  thought  Mademoi- 
selle was  to  accompany  you — they  might  have  frightened 
her.     These  people  want  to  know  so  much  !  " 

"I  know  nothing  of  what  has  happened  this  morning, 
that  you  speak  of  as  if  the  whole  world  must  know," 
retorted  Lady  Landale  coolly.  "You  are  all  hatching 
plots  and  sitting  on  secrets,  but  nobody  confides  in  me. 
It  seems  then,  that  you  expected  Mademoiselle,  my  sister, 
here  for  some  purpose  and  that  you  regret  she  did  not 
come  ;  may  I  ask  for  an  explanation  ?  " 

A  few  moments  elapsed  before  the  man  replied,  and 
then  it  was  with  embarrassment  and  diffidence:  "For 
sure,  I  am  sorry.  My  Lady  ....  there  have  been  mis- 
fortunes on  the  island  this  morning — nothing  though  to 
concern  her  ladyship — and,  as  for  Mademoiselle,  mother 

Margery  would    have  liked  to  see  her,  no  doubt 

and  Maggie  the  wife  also — and — and  no  doubt  also  Ma- 
demoiselle would  have  liked  to  come  ....  What  do  I 
know  ?  " 

"Oh,  of  course!"  said  Molly  with  her  little  note  of 
mocking  laughter. 

Then  again  they  walked  a  while  in  silence.  As  Ren^ 
lifted  his  mistress  in  his  arms  to  carry  her  over  the  lick- 
ing hissing  foam,  she  resumed:  "  It  is  well,  Rene,  you 
are  discreet,  but  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  people  seem  to 
think.     As  for  her,  you  were  right  in  thinking  that  she 


298  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

might  easily  be  frightened.     She  was  afraid  even  to  come 
out  !  " 

Rene'  shoved  his  boat  off,  and  falling  to  his  sculls,  sud- 
denly relapsed  into  the  old  vernacular  :  "Ah  Madame,''  he 
sighed,  c'est  bientriste — un  geniilhomme  si  beau — si  brave  !  " 

During  the  crossing  no  further  words  passed  between 
them. 

"So  brave — so  handsome.?''  The  echo  of  the  words 
came  back  to  the  woman  in  every  lap  of  the  water  on  the 
sides  of  the  boat,  in  every  strain  of  the  oars. 

The  keel  ground  against  the  beach,  and  Rene  leaped 
out  to  drag  the  boat  free  of  the  surf  As  he  did  so,  two 
blacker  outlines  segregated  themselves  from  the  darkness 
and  a  rough  voice  called  out,  subdued  but  distinct  : 
"Savenaye,  St.  Malo  !" 

"Savenaye,  St.  Malo!"  repeated  Ren^,  and  helped 
Lady  Landale  to  alight.  Then  one  of  the  figures  darted 
forward  and  whispered  a  rapid  sentence  in  the  French- 
man's ear.  Ren^  uttered  an  exclamation,  but  his  mistress 
intervened  with  scant  patience  : 

"My  good  Rene',"  said  she,  "take  the  bag  into  the 
peel,  and  come  back  for  me.  I  have  a  message  for  these 
gentlemen." 

Rene  hesitated.  As  he  did  so  a  rustle  of  anger  shook 
the  lady  in  her  silks  and  furs.  "  Do  you  hear  me  .? "  she 
repeated,  and  he  could  guess  how  her  little  foot  stamped 
the  yielding  sand. 

"  Oiii,  Madame"  said  he,  hesitating  no  longer.  Imme- 
diately the  other  two  drew  near.  Molly  could  just  see 
that  they  stood  in  all  deference,  cap  in  hand. 

"  Madam,"  began  one  of  these  in  hurried  words,  "there 
is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost :  the  captain  had  to  remain  on 
board." 

"  What !"  interrupted  Lady  Landale  with  much  as- 
perity, "not  come  in  person  !  "  She  had  been  straining 
her  eyes  to  make  out  somethingof  her  interlocutor's  form, 
unable  to  reconcile  her  mind's  picture  with  the  coarse 
voice  that  addressed  her — And  now  all  her  high  expecta- 
tions fell  from  her  in  an  angry  rush.  "  Have  I  come  all 
this  way  to  be  met  by  a  messenger  !     Who  are  you.?" 

"Madam."  entreated  the  husky  voice,  "  I  am  the  mate 
of  the  Peregrine.  The  captain  has  directed  me  to  beg 
and  pray  you  not  to  be  afraid,  but  to  have  good  courage 


THE  NIGHT  299 

and  confidence  in  us — the  schooner  is  there  ;  in  five 
minutes  you  can  be  safe  on  board.  You  see,  madam," 
continued  the  man  with  an  earnestness  that  spoke  well  of 
his  devotion,  "the  captain  found  he  couldn't,  he  dared 
not  leave  the  ship — he  is  the  only  one  who  knows  the 
bearings  of  these  waters  here — any  one  of  us  might  run 
her  on  the  bank,  and  where  would  we  be  then,  madam, 
and  you,  if  we  were  found  in  daylight  still  in  these 
parts  ? — '  For  God's  sake,  Curwen,'  says  he,  'implore  the 
lady  not  to  be  afraid  and  tell  her  to  trust,  as  she  has 
promised, '  so  he  says.  And  for  God's  sake,  say  I,  madam, 
trust  us.  In  five  minutes  you  will  be  with  him  ?  Say  the 
word,  madam,  am  I  to  make  the  signal  ?  There  he  is, 
eating  his  heart  out.  There  are  all  the  lads  ready  waiting 
for  your  foot  on  the  ladder,  to  hoist  sail.  No  time  to  lose, 
we  are  already  behind.     Shall  I  signal.?" 

Molly's  heart  beat  violently  ;  under  the  sudden  im- 
pulse, the  fascination  of  the  black  chasm,  of  the  peril, 
the  adventure,  the  unfathomed,  took  possession  of  her, 
and  whirled  her  on, 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

On  the  very  utterance  of  the  word  the  man,  who  had 
not  yet  spoken,  uncovered  a  lantern,  held  it  aloft,  as 
rapidly  replaced  it  under  his  coat,  and  moved  away. 

Almost  immediately,  against  the  black  pall,  behind  the 
dim  line  of  grey  that  marked  the  shore,  suddenly  sprang 
up  three  bright  points  in  the  form  of  a  triangle. 

It  was  as  if  all  the  darkness  around  had  been  filled  with 
life  ;  as  if  the  first  fulfilment  of  those  promises  with  which 
it  had  been  drawing  this  woman's  soul  was  now  held  out 
to  her  to  lure  her  further  still. 

"See,  madam,  how  they  watch! — By  your  leave." 

And  with  no  further  warning,  Molly  felt  herself  seized 
with  uncompromising,  but  deferential,  energy,  by  a  pair 
of  powerful  arms  ;  lifted  like  a  child,  and  carried  away  at 
a  bear-like  trot.  By  the  splashing  she  judged  it  was 
through  the  first  line  of  breakers.  'Then  she  was  handed 
into  another  irresistible  grasp.  The  boat  lurched  as  the 
mate  jumped  in.     Then  : 

"Now  give  way,  lads,"  he  said,  "and  let  her  have  it. 
Those  lights  must  not  be  burning  longer  than  we  can 
help.     Tain't  wholesome  for  any  of  us." 

And  under  the  pulse  of  four  willing  pairs  of  arms  the 


300  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

skiff,  like  a  thing  of  life,  clove  the  black  waters  and  rose 
to  the  billows. 

"  You  see,  madam,"  explained  the  mate,  "we  could 
not  do  without  the  lights,  to  show  us  where  she  lay,  and 
give  us  a  straight  course.  We  are  all  right  so  long  as  we 
keep  that  top  'un  in  the  middle — but  he  won't  be  sorry, 
I  reckon,  when  he  can  drop  them  overboard.  They  can't 
be  seen  from  the  offing  yet,  but  it's  astounding  how  far  a 
light  will  reach  on  a  night  like  this.  Cheerily,  lads,  let 
her  have  it  !  " 

But  Molly  heeded  him  not.  She  had  abandoned  herself 
to  the  thrilling  delight  of  the  excitement.  The  die  was 
cast — not  by  her  own  hand,  no  one  should  be  able  to  hold 
her  responsible — she  had  been  kidnapped.  Come  what 
might  she  must  now  see  the  adventure  out. 

The  lights  grew  larger  ;  presently  a  black  mass,  sur- 
mounted by  a  kind  of  greyish  cloud,  loomed  through  the 
pitch  of  the  night  ;  and  next  it  vi'as  evident  that  the 
beacon  was  hanging  over  the  side  of  a  ship,  illuminating 
its  jagged  leaping  water  line. 

A  voice,  not  too  loud,  yet,  even  through  the  distance, 
ringing  clear  in  its  earnestness  sounded  from  above. 
"  Boat  ahoy  !  what  boat  is  that  ? " 

And  promptly  the  helmsman  by  Molly's  side  returned  : 
"Savenaye,  St.  Malo." 

On  the  instant  the  lights  went  out.  There  was  a 
creaking  of  block  and  cordage,  and  new  ghostly  clouds 
rose  over  the  ship — sails  loosened  to  the  wind.  As  the 
skiff  rowers  came  alongside,  boat-hooks  leaped  into  action 
and  gripped  the  vessel  ;  an  arm,  strong  as  steel,  was  held 
out  for  the  passenger  as  she  fearlessly  put  her  foot  on  the 
ladder  ;  another,  a  moment  later,  with  masterful  tender- 
ness bent  round  her  waist,  and  she  was  fairly  lifted  on 
board  the  Feregn7ie.  But  before  her  foot  touched  the 
deck,  she  felt  upon  her  lips,  laid  like  a  burning  seal,  a 
passionate  kiss  ;  and  her  soul  leaped  up  to  it,  as  if  called 
into  sudden  life  from  slumber,  like  the  princess  of  fairy 
lore.  She  heard  Madeleine's  mysterious  lover  whisper  in 
her  ear  :  "At  last !  Oh,  what  I  have  suffered,  thinking 
you  would  not  come  !  " 

From  the  warm  shelter  of  her  loosened  cloak  the  violets 
in  her  bosom  sent  forth  a  wave  of  sweetness. 

For  a  moment  these  two  were  in  all  creation  alone  to 


THE  NIGHT  301 

each  other,  while  in  a  circle  the  Peregrine's  crew  stood 
apart  in  respectful  silence  :  a  broad  grin  of  sympathy 
upon  the  mouth  of  every  mother's  son. 

Released  at  last,  Lady  Landale  took  a  trembling  step 
on  the  deck.  Into  what  strange  world  had  she  come 
this  night  ? 

The  schooner,  like  a  mettled  steed  whose  head  is 
suddenly  set  free,  was  already  in  motion,  and  with  gentle 
forward  swaying  leaps  rising  to  the  wave  and  gathering 
speed  under  her  swelling  sails. 

Captain  Jack  had  seized  Molly's  hand,  and  the  strong 
clasp  trembled  round  the  little  fingers  ;  he  said  no  more 
to  her  ;  but,  in  tones  vibrating  with  emotion  which  all  the 
men,  now  silently  seeking  their  posts  in  the  darkness, 
could  hear  : 

"My  lads,"  he  cried,  "the  lady  is  safe  with  us  after 
all.  Who  shall  say  that  your  skipper  is  not  still  Lucky 
Smith?  Thank  you,  my  good  fellows  !  Now  we  have 
yet  to  bring  her  safe  the  other  side.  Meanwhile — no 
cheering,  lads,  you  know  why — there  is  a  hundred  guineas 
more  among  you  the  hour  we  make  St.  Malo.  Stand  to, 
every  man.      Up  with  those  topsails  !  " 

Scarcely  had  the  last  words  been  spoken  when,  from 
the  offing,  on  the  wings  of  the  wind,  came  a  long-drawn 
hail,  faint  through  the  distance,  but  yet  fatally  distinct  : 
"Ahoy,  what  schooner  is  that.?" 

Molly,  who  had  not  withdrawn  her  hand,  felt  a  shock 
pass  over  Captain  Jack's  frame.  He  turned  abruptly,  and 
she  could  see  him  lean  and  strain  in  the  direction  of  the 
voice. 

The  call,  after  an  interval,  was  repeated.  But  the 
outlook  was  impenetrable,  and  it  was  weird  indeed  to  feel 
that  they  were  seen  yet  could  not  see. 

Molly,  standing  close  by  his  side,  knew  in  every  fibre 
of  her  own  body  that  this  man,  to  whom  she  seemed  in 
some  inexplicable  fashion  already  linked,  was  strongly 
moved.  Nevertheless  she  could  hardly  guess  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  passion  that  shook  him.  It  was  the  frenzy 
of  the  rider  who  feels  his  horse  about  to  fail  him  within  a 
span  of  the  winning  post ;  of  the  leader  whose  men  waver 
at  the  actual  point  of  victory.  But  the  weakness  of  dis- 
may was  only  momentary.  Cnlm  and  clearness  of  mind 
returned   with  the  sense  of  emergency.      He  raised  his 


302 


TilK   L[(.irr  Ol-   SCARTFIKY 


i)ij;ht-(H.'iS'i,  with  a  stcatly  hand  this  tiirn;,  aiifl  Hcaniicd 
the  «l<|)lh  '.I  l.l.K  kiicsH  in  front  ol  liini  :  out  of  it  after  a 
moineiit,  tli(;n;  scrrricd  tf)  shape  itseK  the  «iini  outline  of 
a  'i.iil,  and  he  knew  that  he  had  wailed  too  lonjf  and  had 
l.ill'ii  in  aj^'iin  with  tlie  preventive;  (:utt(T.  Then  jdancinpr 
ah»(t,  he  un(h'r;itood  how  it  war;  that  the  I'r.re^rinr.  \vm\ 
been  re(:ojoiis("(|. 

'rh(!  overcast  sky  ha<l  p;iilly  cleared  to  windw.ud  dtninjj 
the  h'lsl  uiinuleH  ;  a  few  HtarH  jdintcd  where  hilhi-rto  iioth- 
in)^  IhiI  tlir  uio'it  inipc:netrahie  pall  had  hl^l)^  In  the 
east,  the  lays  of  a  yet  invisihle  moon,  ed)onj;  with  faint 
silver  thf;  banks  of  clouds  just  above  tin;  horizon,  liad 
rnad(;  for  the  schooner  a  tell-tale  back/aound  imleed. 

On  brtani  no  sound  was  heard  now  save  the  struj^j^h; 
ol  ioj)e  and  <  anvas,  the  yx^-wVxwy  ol  timber  and  the  swift 
plashiii)^  in  .h  ol  vv;ili'i  aj^ainst  Iht  lonndcd  sides  as  she 
sped  her  ( oni  .e. 

"  IVIadel(;ine,"  he  said,  (ok  ibiy  (.ontioiliii);  his  voice, 
;iiid  biinjMiiff,  as  h(!  spoke,  his  face  close  to  Molly's  to 
peer  anxiously  at  its  imir. I  im  t  while  oval,  "we  ar(;  not 
free  yet  ;  but  in  ash(Hl  linir,  with  fJod's  help,  vvcr  shall 
have  left  tlio:',r  infci  nir<ldlin;^  fools  yonder  who  would  bar 
oiii  vv.iy,  mill";  oil!  ol  Ihc  nmninj;.  but  I  <  ;iiinot  remain 
with  y<iu  a  moincnl  lonjMM  ;  I  must  lake  the  helm  myself. 
Oh,  lorjove  me  lor  havinjf  broujdil  you  to  this  !  And, 
should  you  hear  liriii)^,  for  llfraven  s  sak»*  do  not  lose; 
coiuajM",  See  now,  I  will  briii)^  you  to  your  cabin  ;  there 
you  will  find  vv.irmth  and  shelter.  And  in  a  little  whih;, 
a  very  htlle  while-,  I  will  retiun  to  you  to  tell  you  all  is 
well.       f  'omr,   ui  y  d'snesl   love.  " 

Oently  he  would  have  drawn  her  toward.s  the  little  deck- 
(  abin,  (Miidin)i;  h(;l  stcrps,  as  yet  tndutored  to  Hh;  motion 
of  the  shi]),  when  out  ol  (he  black  chasm,  upon  tlu; 
weatlurrbovv  of  tin-  I'lt  rfn  iin\  hsiped  forth  a  yellow  toiijMie 
of  liidit  lrin)M-d  wilh  led  and  en(  ircle(|  by  a  inddy  cloud  ; 
and  three  seconds  later  the  boom  of  a  jnin  bioke  with  a  <lull, 
oiriiiious  clanj^our  abov<  (he  wran)din(^  of  se.i  and  wmd. 
Molly  strai)ditened  hersell.      "  What  is  that.'' "she;  asked. 

"  'I'he  v\'arnin);  )Mm,"  he  answered,  hurriedly,  "  to  say 
(hat  they  mcran  to  see  who  we  are  and  that  if  we  do  not 
slop  till-  next  will  be  sholti'd.  Time  presses,  Madeleine, 
j'(»  in  (e;n  nodiiii)'  I  We  shall  soon  be  on  (heir  other 
side,  out  ol  si^ht  in  daikness  aj^ain." 


TIIF.  NFGHT  303 

"  I  shall  stop  willi  you.  I>»  I  no  tliou|;hl  ol  inr  liiiulcr 
you.      I  am  not  afraid.      I  want  to  sco. " 

At  tlicso  words  the  U)vcr  was  struck  witli  a  sur])riso  that 
incited  into  a  proud  an<l  new  joy.  lie  had  loved  IViadc- 
leinc  lor  her  wonian's  grace  and  hei  woman's  heart  ;  now, 
he  told  himself,  he  must  worship  in  r  also  loi  her  brave 
soul.  Ihd  Ihis  was  no  time  for  useless  words.  it  was 
not  more  unsafe  for  her  on  deck  than  in  tlie  c.-d)in,  and 
,at  the  Ihoujdit  of  her  l)(;sidc  him  during  the  (onnng 
struggle  the  strength  of  a  god  rose  within  hini.  "  Come," 
he  answered,  briefly,  and  moved  with  her  to  the  helm 
which  a  sailor  silently  surrendered  to  him  whilst  she 
steadied  herself  by  holding  lo  llie  binnacle  (he  only 
place  on  board  at  thai  time  where  (from  shetir  necessily) 
any  lijdit  had  been  allowed  t<»  remain.  It  was  faint 
enough,  but  th('  reflection  from  the  compass-board,  as  he 
bent  (o  cxandne  it,  was  Huflicicnt  lo  make  just  visible, 
with  a  dim  fantastic  glow,  the  strong  beauty  of  his  face, 
and  put  a  Hash  into  each  wide;  dilated  eye. 

And  thus  did  Molly,  for  the  first  time,  sec  Capl.iin  ja(  k. 
She  sank  down  at  tin-  foot  of  the  binnach;,  her  hands 
clasped  round  her  knees,  as  if  hugging  the  new  rajjturc  as 
closely  to  her  as  she  could.  And  looking  up  at  tlie  alert 
figure  before  her  which  she  now  began  to  discern  more 
clearly  under  the  lightening  sky  ;  at  tlie  face  which  slu-  di- 
vined, although  she  coidd  only  see  the  watchfid  gleam  of 
the  eye»  as  now  and  again  they  sought  her  (h)wn  in  lh<- 
shadow  at  his  feet,  she  fell  herself  liindh-  in  answer  to 
the  glow  of  his  glorious  life-energy.  They  were  going, 
side  by  side,  this  young  hero  of  romance  and  she,  to 
fight   lln;ir  way  through  some  unKnown   peril! 

"Madeleine,  my  sweet  bri<lc,  my  |)rav<;  love,  they  are 
about  to  lire  a)^ain,  an<I  this  time  you  will  hear  the  shot 
burring;  but  be  not  afraid,  it  will  strike  rdn-ad  of  us." 

Another  Hash  sprang  out  oflhenighl,  much  nearer  this 

time,    and    louder,    for    it    belched    forth     a     shot    which 

ploughed  its  way  in  the  water  across  the  schooner's  bow. 

"  lam  not  afraid,"  said  Molly  again  ;   and  she  laughed 

a  little  li(;rce,  n<'rvous  laugh. 

"They  are  between  us  and  the  open  sea.  Thus  far 
the  luck  is  on  their  side.  Had  you  come  but  half  an  hour 
sooner,  Madeleine,  we  should  Ix;  running  as  Iree  as  any 
king's  ship.      Now   they  think,  no  doul)t,  they   will  drive 


304  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

me  on  to  the  sand  ;  but,"  he  tossed  back  his  head  with  a 
superb  gesture  ;  "there  is  no  power  from  heaven  or  hell 
that  can  keep  me  out  of  my  course  to-night." 

By  this  time  the  preventive  cutter  was  faintly  discerni- 
ble two  cables  length  on  the  larboard  bow.  There  came 
another  hail — a  loud,  husky  bellow  from  over  the  water, 
"  Schooner  ahoy  !     Heave  to,  or  we'll  sink  you  !  " 

"Madeleine,"  said  Captain  Jack;  "come  closer  to 
me,  lie  down,  behind  me,  quick — The  next  shot  will  be 
in  my  rigging.  Heave  to  ? — with  my  treasures,  my  bride 
on  board  and  a  ten  knot  breeze.  ...  I"  And  he  looked 
down  at  Molly,  laughing  in  his  contempt.  Then  he 
shouted  some  order  which  brought  the  Peregrine  some 
points  more  off  the  wind,  and  she  bounded  forward  with 
renewed  zest.  "Sink  us  !  Why  don't  you  fire  now,  you 
lubbers  ?  "  He  glanced  back  over  his  shoulder  to  see  the 
beacon  of  Scarthey  straight  over  the  stern.  "  You  have 
got  us  in  line  with  the  light,  and  that's  your  last  chance. 
In  another  minute  I  shall  be  past  you.  Ah,  I  can  see  you 
now,  my  fine  fellows  ! — Courage,    Madeleine." 

To  Molly,  of  course,  his  words  conveyed  no  meaning, 
except  that  the  critical  moment  had  come,  that  the  ship 
which  carried  her  flying  upon  the  water  like  a  living  thing, 
eager,  yet  obedient  in  all  its  motions  to  the  guiding  will  of 
the  man  beside  her,  was  rushing  to  the  fray.  The  thought 
fired  her  soul,  and  she  sprang  up  to  look  over  the  side. 

"What,"  she  exclaimed,  for  the  little  cutter  on  close 
quarters  looked  insignificant  indeed  by  the  side  of  the 
noble  vessel  that  so  scornfully  bore  down  on  her.  "  Is 
that  all  !  " 

"They  have  a  gun,  and  we  have  none,''  answered  Cap- 
tain Jack.  "Down,  Madeleine!  down  behind,  in  the 
name  of  God  !  " 

"Why  should  I  crouch  if  you  stand  up  V 

The  man's  heart  swelled  within  him  ;  but  as  he  looked 
with  proud  admiration  at  the  cloaked  and  hooded  figure 
by  his  side,  the  cutter's  gun  fired  for  the  third  time.  With 
roar  and  hiss  the  shot  came  over  the  bow  of  the  schooner, 
as  she  dipped  into  the  trough,  and  raking  the  deck, 
crashed  through  her  side  on  the  quarter,  Molly  gave  a 
shriek  and  staggered. 

A  fearful  malediction  burst  from  Captain  Jack's  lips  : 
he  left  the  tiller  and  sprang  to  her. 


THE  NIGHT  305 

One  of  the  hands,  believing  his  skipper  to  have  been 
struck,  ran  to  the  helm,  and  again  put  the  vessel  on  her 
proper  course  which  a  few  moments  later  was  to  make 
her  shoot  past  the  revenue  cutter. 

"  Wounded,  Madeleine  !  Wounded  through  my  fault ! 
By  the  living  God,  they  shall  pay  for  this  !  " 

"  Oh,"  groaned  Molly,  "something  has  cut  me  in  the 
arm  and  shoulder."  Then  rapidly  gathering  composure, 
"But  it's  not  much,  I  can  move  it." 

At  one  glance  the  sailor  saw  from  the  position  of  the 
shot  hole  in  the  vessel's  side  that  the  wound  could  only 
have  been  made  by  a  splinter.  But  the  possibility  of 
exposing  his  beloved  to  such  another  risk  was  not  to  be 
borne — a  murderous  rush  of  blood  flew  to  his  brain. 

The  cutter,  perceiving  the  tactics  of  the  swifter  schooner, 
was  now  tacking  about  with  the  intention  of  bringing  the 
gun  to  bear  upon  her  once  more  as  she  attempted  to  slip 
by.  But  Captain  Jack  in  his  new-fanned  fury  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  a  desperate  cast  of  the  die. 

"  Starboard,  hard  a  starboard,"  he  called  out  in  a  voice 
that  his  men  had  known  well  in  old  fighting  days  and 
which  was  heard  as  far  as  the  cutter  itself.  "They shall 
not  fire  that  gun  again  !  '" 

With  a  brief,  ' '  Starboard  it  is,  sir,"  the  man  who  had 
taken  the  helm  brought  the  ship  round,  and  the  silent, 
active  crew  in  a  trice  were  ready  to  go  about.  Majestic- 
ally the  schooner  changed  her  course,  and  as  the  mean- 
ing of  the  manoeuvre  became  fearfully  apparent,  shouts 
and  oaths  arose  in  confusion  from  the  cutter. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  eagerly  asked  Molly, 
enthralled  by  the  superb  motion  of  the  vessel  under  her 
foot  as  it  swept  round  and  increased  speed  upon  the  new 
tack. 

He  held  her  in  his  arms.  His  hand  had  sought  her 
wounded  shoulder  and  pressed  the  lacerated  spot  in  his 
effort  to  staunch  the  precious  blood  that  rose  warm  through 
the  cloth,  torturing  his  cold  fingers. 

"  I  am  going  to  clear  those  men  from  our  way  to  free- 
dom and  to  love  !  I  am  going  to  sink  that  boat  :  they 
shall  pay  with  their  lives  for  this  !  Come  to  the  other  side, 
Madeleine,  and  watch  how  my  stout  Peregrine  sweeps 
our  course — and  then  I  may  see  how  these  scoundrels 
have  mangled  you,  my  love.  But,  nay,  this  is  no  sight 
20 


3o6  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

for  you.  Hold  on  close  to  me,  sweet,  and  hide  your 
eyes  while  they  go." 

He  steadied  himself  firmly  with  one  hand  on  the  rig- 
ging- 

Now  musket  shots  flashed  on  board  the  cutter  in  quick 

succession,  and  sundry  balls  whizzed  over  the  poop,  in- 
tended for  the  helmsman  by  their  side.  Captain  Jack 
gnashed  his  teeth,  as  the  menacing  drone  of  one  of  them 
came  perilously  close  to  the  beloved  head  by  his  cheek. 

"  Look  out,  every  man.  We'll  run  her  down  !  "  he 
called.  His  voice  was  like  the  blast  of  bugles.  Cheers 
broke  out  from  every  part  of  the  ship,  drowning  the  yells 
of  execration  and  the  shouts  of  fear  from  below.  And 
now,  with  irresistible  sway,  the  rushing  Peregri7ie  heavy 
and  powerful  was  closing  and  bearing  down  upon  her 
frailer  enemy. 

There  was  a  spell  of  suspense  when  all  was  silence, 
save  the  rush  and  turmoil  of  the  waters,  and  the  flapping 
of  the  cutter's  sails,  helpless  for  the  moment  in  the  teeth 
of  the  breeze.  Like  a  charging  steed  the  schooner  seemed 
to  leap  at  her  foe.  Then  came  the  shock.  There  was  a 
brief  check  in  her  career,  she  rose  by  the  head  ;  the  rig- 
ging strained  and  sighed,  the  masts  swayed  groaning, 
but  stood.  Over  the  bows,  in  the  darkness  was  heard  a 
long-drawn  crash,  was  seen  a  vi'hite  wall  of  foammg 
water  rising  silently  to  break  the  next  moment  with  a 
great  roar. 

The  cutter,  struck  obliquely  amidships,  was  thrown 
straightway  on  her  beam  ends  :  the  Peregrine,  with  every 
sail  spread  and  swollen,  held  her  as  the  preying  bird  with 
outstretched  wings  holds  its  quarry,  and  pressed  her 
down  until  she  began  to  fill  and  settle.  It  was  with 
wide-open  eyes,  with  eager,  throbbing  heart  that  ]\Iolly 
watched  it  all. 

"Lights,  my  lads,"  cried  Captain  Jack,  with  a  shout 
of  exultation,  when  the  anxious  instant  had  passed. 
"Take  in  every  man  you  can  save  but  handspike  is  the 
word  for  the  first  who  shows  fight !  Curwen,  do  you  get 
her  clear  again." 

All  around  upon  the  deck,  sprang  rumour  and  turmoil, 
came  shouts  and  sounds  of  scuffling  and  the  rushing  of 
feet;  from  the  blank  waters  came  piteous   calls  for  help. 
But  paying   little  heed  to  aught  but  Molly,  Captain  Jack 


THE  NIGHT  307 

seized  a  lighted  lantern  from  the  hands  of  a  passing  sailor 
and  drew  her  aside. 

Fevered  with  pain  and  fascinated  by  the  horror  of  fight 
and  death's  doings,  yet  instinctively  remembering  to  pull 
her  hood  over  her  face,  she  allowed  herself  to  be  taken 
into  the  little  deck  cabin. 

He  placed  the  lantern  upon  the  table  : 

"Rest  here,"  he  said  quickly,  once  more  striving  to 
see  her  beneath  the  jealous  shade.  "I  must  find  out  if 
anything  is  amiss  on  board  the  ship  and  attend  to  these 
drowning  men — even  before  you,  my  darling  !  But  I 
shall  be  back  instantly.        You  are  not  faint  ?  " 

The  light  shone  full  on  his  features  which  Molly  eagerly 
scanned  from  her  safe  recess.  When  she  met  his  eyes, 
full  of  the  triumph  of  love  and  hope,  her  soul  broke  into 
fierce  revolt — again  she  felt  upon  her  lips  that  kiss  of 
young  passionate  love  that  had  been  the  first  her  life  had 
ever  known.  .  .  .  and  might  be  the  last,  for  the  dis- 
closure was  approaching  apace. 

She  was  glad  of  the  respite. 

"  Go,"  she  said  with  as  much  firmness  as  she  could 
muster.  ' '  Let  me  not  stand  between  you  and  your  duty. 
I  am  strong," 

Strong  indeed — Captain  Jack  might  have  wondered 
whence  had  come  to  this  gentle  Madeleine  this  lioness- 
strength  of  soul  and  body,  had  he  had  time  to  wonder, 
time  for  aught  but  his  love  thoughts  and  his  fury,  as  he 
dashed  back  again  panting  for  the  moment  when  he  could 
have  her  to  himself. 

"Any  damage,  Curwen  ?  " 

"Bowsprit  broken, and  larboard  bulwark  stove  in,  other- 
wise everything  has  stood." 
"Casualties.?  " 

"No,  sir.  We  have  three  of  the  cutter's  men  on  board 
already.  They  swarmed  over  the  bows.  One  had  his 
cutlass  out  and  had  the  devil's  impudence  to  claim  the 
schooner,  but  a  boat-hook  soon  brought  him  to  reason. 
There  tliey  be,  sir,"  pointing  to  a  darker  group  huddled 
round  the  mast.  "I  have  lowered  the  gig  to  see  if  we 
can  pick  up  the  others,  damn  them  !  " 

"As  soon  as  they  are  all  on  board  bring  them  aft,  I 
will  speak  to  them." 

When,  with  a  master's   eye,  he  had  rapidly  inspected 


3o8  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

his  vessel  from  the  hold  to  the  rigging,  without  finding 
aught  to  cause  anxiety  for  its  safety,  Captain  Jack  re- 
turned to  the  poop,  and  there  found  the  party  of  prisoners 
arranged  under  the  strong  guard  of  his  own  crew.  IVIolly 
stood,  wrapped  up  in  her  cloak,  at  the  door  of  the  cabin, 
watching. 

One  of  the  revenue  men  came  forward  and  attempted 
to  speak — but  the  captain  impatiently  cut  him  short. 

"I  have  no  time  to  waste  in  talk,  my  man,"  he  said 
commandingly.  "How  many  were  you  on  board  the 
cutter  ? " 

"  Nine,"  answered  the  man  sullenly. 

"  How  many  have  we  got  here  ?  " 

"Six,  sir,"  interposed  Curwen.  "Those  three,"  point- 
ing to  three  disconsolate  and  dripping  figures,  "were 
all  we  could  pick  up." 

"Hark  ye,  fellows,"  said  the  captain.  "You  barred 
my  road,  I  had  to  clear  you  away.  You  tried  to  sink  me, 
I  had  to  sink  you.  You  have  lost  three  of  your  ship- 
mates, you  have  yourselves  to  blame  for  it ;  your  shot  has 
drawn  blood  from  one  for  whom  I  would  have  cut  down 
forty  times  your  number.  I  will  send  you  back  to  shore. 
Away  with  you  !  No,  I  will  hear  nothing.  Let  them 
have  the  gig,  Curwen,  and  four  oars." 

"And  now  God  speed  the  Peregrine,"  cried  Jack  Smith, 
as  the  revenue  men  pushed  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
light  and  the  wind  was  again  swelling  every  sail  of  his 
gallant  ship.  "  We  are  well  out  of  our  scrape.  Shape 
her  course  for  St.  Malo,  Curwen.  If  this  wind  holds 
we  should  be  there  by  the  nineteenth  in  the  morning,  at 
latest." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  FIGHT  FOR  THE  OPEN 

As  o'er  the  grass,  beneath  the  larches  there 
We  gaily  stepped,  the  high  noon  overhead, 
Then  Love  was  born — was  born  so  strong  and  fair. 
Knowest  thou  !     Love  is  dead. 

Gipsy  Song. 

At  last  he  was  free.  He  had  wrested  his  bride  and  the 
treasure  trusted  to  his  honour  from  the  snares  so  unex- 
pectedly laid  on  his  path  ;  whatever  troubles  might  remain 
stored  against  him  in  the  dim  distance  of  time,  he  would 
not  reck  them  now.  The  present  and  the  immediate 
future  were  full  of  splendour  and  triumph. 

All  those  golden  schemes  worked  out  under  yonder 
light  of  Scarthey — God  bless  it — now  receding  in  the  gloom 
behind  his  swift  running  ship,  whether  m  the  long 
watches  of  the  night,  or  in  the  recent  fevered  resolves  of 
imminent  danger,  they  had  come  to  pass  after  all !  And 
she,  the  light  of  his  life,  was  with  him.  She  had  trusted 
her  happiness,  her  honour,  herself,  to  his  love.  The 
thought  illumined  his  brain  with  glory  as  he  rushed  back  to 
the  silent  muffled  figure  that  still  stood  awaiting  his  coming. 

"  At  last !  "  he  said,  panting  in  the  excess  of  his  joy  ; 
"At  last,  Madeleine  ....  I  can  hardly  believe  it!  But 
selfish  brute  that  I  am,  you  must  be  crushed  with  fatigue. 
My  brave  darling,  you  would  make  me  forget  your  tender 
woman's  frame,  and  you  are  wounded  !  '' 

Supporting  her — for  the  ship,  reaching  the  open  sea,  had 
begun  to  roll  more  wildly — he  led  her  back  into  the  little 
room  now  lighted  by  the  fitful  rays  of  a  swinging  lamp. 
With  head  averted,  she  suffered  herself  to  be  seated  on  a 
kind  of  sofa  couch. 

When  he  had  closed  the  door,  he  seized  her  hand,  on 
which  ran  streaks  of  half-dried  blood,  and  covered  it  with 
kisses. 

309 


310  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

"Ah,  Madeleine!  here  in  the  sanctuary  I  had  prepared 
for  you,  where  I  thought  you  would  be  so  safe,  so  guard- 
ed, tell  me  that  you  forgive  me  for  having  brought  this 
injury  to  you.  Wounded,  torn,  bleeding  ....  I  who 
would  give  all  my  blood,  my  life,  if  life  were  not  so  pre- 
cious to  me  now  that  you  have  come  into  it,  to  save  you 
from  the  slightest  pain  !  At  least  here  you  are  secure,  here 
you  can  rest,  but — but  there  is  no  one  to  wait  on  you, 
Madeleine."  He  fell  on  his  knees  beside  her,  "Made- 
leine, my  wife,  you  must  let  me  tend  you."  Then,  as 
she  shivered  slightly,  but  did  not  turn  to  him,  he  went  on 
in  tones  of  the  most  restrained  tenderness  mingled  with 
humblest  pleading  : 

"  Had  it  not  been  for  your  accident,  I  had  not  ventured 
even  to  cross  the  threshold  of  this  room.  But  your  wound 
must  be  dressed  ;  darling,  darling,  allow  me,  forgive  me  ; 
the  risk  is  too  great." 

Rising  to  his  feet  again  he  gently  pulled  at  her  cloak, 
Molly  spoke  not  a  word,  but  untied  it  at  the  neck  and  let 
it  fall  away  from  her  fair  young  body;  and  keeping  her 
hooded  face  still  rigidly  averted,  she  surrendered  her 
wounded  arm. 

He  muttered  words  of  distress  at  the  sight  of  the  broad 
blood  stains  ;  stepped  hurriedly  to  a  little  cupboard  where 
such  surgical  stores  as  might  be  required  on  board  were 
hoarded,  and  having  selected  scissors,  lint,  and  bandages, 
came  back  and  again  knelt  down  by  her  side  to  cut  off, 
with  eager,  compassionate  hands,  the  torn  and  maculated 
sleeve. 

The  wound  was  but  a  surface  laceration,  and  a  man 
wouldnot  have  given  a  thought  to  it  in  the  circumstances. 
But  to  see  this  soft,  white  woman's  skin,  bruised  black  in 
parts,  torn  with  a  horrid  red  gap  in  others;  to  see  the  beauty 
of  this  round  arm  thus  brutally  marred,  thus  twitching  with 
pain — it  was  monstrous,  hideously  unnatural  in  the  lover's 
eyes  ! 

With  tenderness,  but  unflinchingly,  he  laved  the  mangled 
skin  with  cool,  fresh  water  ;  pulled  out,  with  far  greater 
torture  to  himself  than  to  her,  some  remaining  splinters 
embedded  in  the  flesh  ;  covered  the  wound  with  lint,  and 
finished  the  operation  by  a  bandage  as  neat  as  his  neat 
sailor's  touch,  coupled  with  some  knowledge  of  surgery, 
gained  in  the  experiences  of  his  privateering  days,  could 


THE  FIGHT  FOR  THE  OPEN  311 

accomplish  it.  He  spoke  little  :  only  a  word  of  encour- 
agement, of  admiration  for  her  fortitude  now  and  then  ; 
and  she  spoke  not  at  all  during  the  ministration.  She  had 
raised  her  other  hand  to  her  eyes,  with  a  gesture  natural  to 
one  bracing  herself  to  endurance,  and  had  kept  it  there 
until,  his  task  completed,  her  silence,  the  manner  in  which 
she  hid  her  face  from  him  awoke  in  him  all  that  was  best 
and  loftiest  in  his  generous  heart. 

As  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  stood  before  her,  he  too  dared 
not  speak  for  fear  of  bruising  what  he  deemed  an  ex- 
quisite maidenliness,  before  which  his  manhood  was 
abashed  at  itself.  For  some  moments  there  was  no  sound 
in  the  cabin  save  that  of  the  swift  rushing  waters  behind 
the  wooden  walls  and  of  the  labour  and  life  of  the  ship 
under  full  sail ;  then  he  saw  the  tumultuous  rising  of  her 
bosom,  and  thought  she  was  weeping. 

"  Madeleine,"  he  cried  with  passionate  anxiety,  "  speak  ! 
Let  me  see  your  face — are  you  faint.?  Lie  upon  this 
couch.  Let  me  get  you  wine — oh  that  these  days  were 
passed  and  I  could  call  you  wife  and  never  leave  you  1 
Madeleine,  my  love,  speak  !  " 

Molly  rose  to  her  feet,  and  with  a  gesture  of  anger 
threw  off  her  hood  and  turned  round  upon  him.  And 
there  in  the  light  of  the  lamp,  he  glared  like  one  distraught 
at  the  raven  locks,  the  burning  eyes  of  a  strange  woman. 

She  was  very  pale. 

"No,"  said  Molly,  defiantly,  when  twice  or  thrice  his 
laboured  breath  had  marked  the  passing  of  the  horrible 
moment,  "I  am  not  Madeleine."  Then  she  tried  to 
smile  ;  but  unconsciously  she  was  frightened,  and  the 
smile  died  unformed  as  she  pursued  at  random  : 

"  You  know  me — perhaps  by  hearsay — as  I  know  you, 
Captain  Smith." 

But  he,  shivering  under  the  coldness  of  his  disappoint- 
ment, answered  in  a  kind  of  weary  whisper  : 

"Who  are  you — you  who  speak  with  her  voice,  who 
stand  at  her  height  and  move  and  walk  as  she  does  ?  I 
have  seen  you  surely — Ah,  1  know  ....  Madam,  what 
a  cruel  mockery  !     And  she,  where  is  she  ?  " 

Still  staring  at  her  with  widely  dilated  eyes,  he  seized 
his  forehead  between  his  hands.  The  gesture  was  one 
of  utter  despair.  Before  this  weakness  Molly  promptly 
resumed  the  superiority  of  self-possession. 


o 


12  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 


"  Yes,"  she  said,  and  this  time  the  smile  came  back  to 
her  face,  "  I  am  Lady  Landale,  and  my  sister  Madeleine 
— I  grieve  to  have  to  say  so — has  not  had  that  courage 
for  which  you  gave  her  credit  to-night.'' 

Little  was  required  at  a  moment  like  this  to  transmute 
such  thoughts  as  seethed  in  the  man's  head  to  a  burst  of 
fury.  Fury  is  action,  and  action  a  relief  to  the  strained 
heart.  There  was  a  half-concealed,  unintended  mockery 
in  her  tones  which  brought  a  sudden  fire  of  anger  to  his 
eyes.  He  raised  both  hands  and  shook  them  fiercely 
above  his  head  : 

"  But  why — why  in  the  name  of  heaven — has  such  a 
trick  been  played  on  me  ....   at  such  a  time .-'  " 

He  paused,  and  trembling  with  the  effort,  restrained 
himself  to  a  more  decent  bearing  before  the  woman,  the 
lady,  the  friend's  wife.  His  arms  fell  by  his  side,  and  he 
repeated  in  lower  tones,  though  the  flame  of  his  gaze 
could  not  be  subdued  : 

"  Why  this  deception,  this  playing  with  the  blindness 
of  my  love.?  Why  this  comedy,  which  has  already  had 
one  act  so  tragic  ? — Yes,  think  of  it,  madam,  think  of  the 
tragedy  this  is  now  in  my  life,  since  she  is  left  behind 
and  I  never  now,  with  these  men's  lives  to  account  for, 
may  go  back  and  claim  her  who  has  given  me  her  troth  ! 
Already  I  staked  the  fortune  of  my  trust,  on  the  bare 
chance  that  she  would  come.  What  though  her  heart 
failed  her  at  the  eleventh  hour? — God  forgive  her  for  it ! 
— surely  she  never  sanctioned  this  masquerade?  .... 
Oh  no  !  she  would  not  stoop  to  such  an  act,  and  human 
life  is  not  a  thing  to  jest  upon.  She  never  played  this 
trick,  the  thought  is  too  odious.  What  have  you  done  ! 
Had  I  known,  had  I  had  word  sooner — but  half  an  hour 
sooner — those  corpses  now  rolling  under  the  wave  with 
their  sunken  ship  would  still  be  live  men  and  warm, 
....  And  I — I  should  not  be  the  hopeless  outlaw,  the 
actual  murderer  that  tliis  night's  work  has  made  of  me  !  " 

His  voice  by  degrees  rose  once  more  to  the  utmost  ring 
of  bitterness  and  anger.  Molly,  who  had  restored  her 
cloak  to  her  shoulders  and  sat  down,  ensconced  in  it  as 
closely  as  her  swaddled  arm  would  allow  her,  contem- 
plated him  with  a  curious  mixture  of  delight  and  terror  ; 
delight  in  his  vigour,  his  beauty,  above  everything  in  his 
mastery  and  strength  ;  and  delight  again  at  the  new  thrill 


THE  FIGHT  FOR  THE  OPEN  313 

of  the  fear  it  imposed  upon  her  daring-  soul.  Then  she 
flared  into  rage  at  the  thought  of  the  coward  of  her  blood 
who  had  broken  faith  with  such  a  man  as  this,  and  she 
melted  all  into  sympathy  with  his  anger — A  right  proper 
man  most  cruelly  used  and  most  justifiably  wrathful  ! 

And  she,  being:  a  woman  whose  face  was  at  most  times 
as  a  book  on  which  to  read  the  working  of  her  soul,  there 
was  something  in  her  look,  as  in  silence  she  listened  and 
gazed  upon  him,  which  struck  him  suddenly  dumb.  Such 
a  look  on  a  face  so  like,  yet  so  unlike,  that  of  his  love  was 
startling  in  the  extreme — horrible. 

He  stepped  back,  and  made  as  if  he  would  have  rushed 
from  the  room.  Then  bethinking  himself  that  he  was  a 
madman,  he  drew  a  chair  near  her  in  a  contrary  mood, 
sat  down,  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  very  steadily. 

She  dropped  her  long  lids,  and  demurely  composed  her 
features  by  some  instinct  that  women  have,  rather  than 
from  any  sense  of  the  impression  she  had  produced. 

A  little  while  they  sat  thus  again  in  silence.  In  the 
silence,  the  rolling  of  the  ship  and  the  manner  in  which, 
as  she  raced  on  her  way,  she  seemed  to  breathe  and  strain, 
worked  in  with  the  mood  of  each  ;  in  his,  with  the  storm 
and  stress  of  his  soul  ;  in  hers,  as  the  very  expression  of 
her  new  freedom  and  reckless  pleasure. 

Then  he  spoke  ;  the  strong  emotion  that  had  warmed 
her  had  now  left  his  voice.      It  was  cold  and  scornful. 

"Madam,  I  await  your  explanation.  So  far,  I  find  my- 
self only  the  victim  of  a  trick  as  unworthy  and  cruel  as  it 
is  purposeless." 

She  had  delayed  carrying  out  her  mission  with  the  most 
definite  perverseness.  She  could  not  but  acknowledge 
the  justice  of  his  reproof,  realise  the  sorry  part  she  must 
play  in  his  eyes,  the  inexcusable  folly  of  the  whole  pro- 
ceeding, and  yet  she  was  strung  to  a  very  lively  indigna- 
tion by  the  tone  he  had  assumed,  and  suddenly  saw  her- 
self in  the  light  of  a  most  disinterested  and  injured  virtue. 

"Captain  Smith,"  she  exclaimed,  flashing  a  hot  glance 
at  him,  "  you  assume  strangely  the  right  to  be  angry  with 
me  !  Be  angry  if  you  will  with  things  as  they  are  ;  rail 
against  fate  if  you  will,  but  be  grateful  to  me. — I  have 
risked  much  to  serve  you." 

The  whole  expression  of  his  face  changed  abruptly  to 
one  of  eager,  almost  entreating,  inquiry. 


314  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

"  Do  me  the  favour,"  she  continued,  "  to  look  into  the 
pocket  of  my  cloak — my  arm  hurts  me  if  I  move — you 
will  find  there  a  letter  addressed  to  you.  I  was  adjured 
to  see  that  it  should  reach  you  in  safety.  I  promised  to 
place  it  in  your  own  hands.  This  could  hardly  have  been 
done  sooner,  as  you  know." 

The  words  all  at  once  seemed  to  alter  the  whole  situa- 
tion.     He  sprang-  up  and  came  to  her  quickly. 

"Oh,  forgive  me,  make  allowances  for  me,  Lady 
Landale,  I  am  quite  distracted  !  "  There  had  returned  a 
tinge  of  hope  into  his  voice.  "  Where  is  it.?  "  he  eagerly 
asked,  seeking,  as  directed,  for  the  pocket.  "Ah!  "  and 
mechanically  repeating,  "Forgive  me  !  "  he  drew  out  the 
letter  at  last  and  retreated,  feverishly  opening  it  under  the 
light  of  the  lamp. 

Molly  had  turned  round  to  watch.  Up  to  this  she  had 
felt  no  regret  for  his  disillusion,  only  an  irritable  heat  of 
temper  that  he  should  waste  so  much  love  upon  so  poor 
an  object.  But  now  all  her  heart  went  to  him  as  she  saw 
the  sudden  greyness  that  fell  on  his  face  from  the  reading 
of  the  very  first  line  ;  there  was  no  indignation,  no  blood- 
stirring  emotion  ;  it  was  as  if  a  cold  pall  had  fallen  upon 
his  generous  spirit.  The  very  room  looked  darker  when 
the  fire  within  the  brave  soul  was  thus  all  of  a  sudden 
extinguished. 

He  read  on  slowly,  with  a  kind  of  dull  obstinacy,  and 
when  he  came  to  the  miserable  end  continued  looking  at 
the  paper  for  the  moment.  Then  his  hand  fell  ;  slowly 
the  letter  fluttered  to  the  floor,  and  he  let  his  eyes  rest 
unseeingly,  wonderingly  upon  the  messenger. 

After  a  little  while  words  broke  from  him,  toneless, 
the  mere  echo  of  dazed  thoughts  :  "It  is  over,  all  over. 
She  has  lost  her  trust.  She  does  not  love  me  any 
more." 

He  picked  up  the  letter  again,  and  sitting  down  placed 
it  in  front  of  him  on  the  table.  "Tis  a  cruel  letter, 
madam,  that  you  have  brought  me,"  he  said  then,  looking 
up  at  Molly  with  the  most  extraordinary  pain  in  his  eyes. 
"A  cruel  letter  !  Yet  1  am  the  same  man  now  that  I  was 
this  morning  when  she  swore  she  would  trust  me  to  the 
end — and  she  could  not  trust  me  a  few  hours  longer ! 
Why  did  you  not  speak  ?  One  word  from  you  as  you 
stepped  upon   the  ship  would  have  saved  my  soul  from 


THE  FIGHT  FOR  THE  OPEN  315 

the  guilt  of  these  men's  death  !  "  Then  with  a  sharper 
uplifting-  of  his  voice,  as  a  new  aspect  of  his  misfortune 
struck  him  :  "And  you — you,  too  !  What  have  I  to  do 
with  you,  Adrian's  wife?     He  does  not  know  ?  " 

She  did  not  reply,  and  he  cried  out,  clapping  his  hands 
together : 

"  It  only  wanted  this.  My  God,  it  is  I — I,  his  friend, 
who  owes  him  so  much,  who  am  to  cause  him  such  fear, 
such  misery  !  Do  you  know,  madam,  that  it  is  impossible 
that  I  should  restore  you  to  him  for  days  yet.  And  then 
when,  and  where,  and  how  ?  God  knows !  Nothing 
must  now  come'  between  me  and  my  trust.  I  have 
already  dishonourably  endangered  it.  To  attempt  to  re' 
turn  with  you  to-night,  as  perhaps  you  fancy  I  will — as, 
of  course,  I  would  instantly  do  had  I  alone  myself  and 
you  to  consider,  would  be  little  short  of  madness.  It 
would  mean  utter  ruin  to  many  whom  I  have  pledged 
myself  to  serve.  And  yet  Adrian — my  honour  pulls  me 
two  ways — poor  Adrian  !  What  dumb  devil  possessed 
you  that  you  did  not  speak  before.  Had  you  no  thought 
for  your  woman's  good  name.?  Ill-fated  venture,  ill-fated 
venture,  indeed  !  Would  God  that  shot  had  met  me  in  its 
way — had  only  my  task  been  accomplished  !  " 

He  buried  his  head  in  his  hands. 

Lady  Landale  flushed  and  paled  alternately,  parted  her 
lips  to  speak,  and  closed  them  once  more.  What  could 
she  say,  and  how  excuse  herself?  She  did  not  repent 
what  she  had  done,  though  it  had  been  sin  all  round  ;  she 
had  little  reck  of  her  woman's  good  name,  as  he  called  it ; 
the  death  of  the  excise  men  weighed  but  lightly,  if  at  all, 
upon  her  conscience  ;  the  thought  of  Adrian  was  only 
then  a  distasteful  memory  to  be  thrust  away  ;  nay — even 
this  man's  grief  could  not  temper  the  wild  joy  that  was  in 
her  soul  to-night.  Fevered  with  fatigue,  with  excitement, 
by  her  wound,  her  blood  ran  burning  in  her  veins,  and 
beat  faster  in  every  pulse. 

And  as  she  felt  the  ship  rise  and  fall,  and  knew  that 
each  motion  was  an  onward  leap  that  separated  her 
further  and  ever  further  from  dull  home  and  dull  husband, 
and  isolated  her  ever  more  completely  with  her  sister's 
lover,  she  exulted  in  her  heart. 

Presently  he  lifted  his  head. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said,    'T  believe  that  you  meant 


3i6  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

most  kindly,  and  as  you  say,  I  should  be  grateful.  Your 
service  is  ill-requited  by  my  reproaches,  and  you  have 
run  risk  indeed — merciful  Heaven,  had  my  old  friend's 
wife  been  killed  upon  my  ship  through  my  doings  !  But 
you  see  I  cannot  command  myself;  you  see  how  I  am 
situated.  You  must  forgive  me.  All  that  can  be  done  to 
restore  you  to  your  home  as  soon  as  possible  shall  be 
done,  and  all,  meanwhile,  to  mitigate  the  discomfort  you 
must  suffer  here — And  for  your  good  intention  to  her  and 
me,  I  thank  you." 

He  had  risen,  and  now  bowed  with  a  dignity  that  sat 
on  his  sailor  freedom  in  no  wise  awkwardly.  She,  too, 
with  an  effort,  stood  up  as  if  to  arrest  his  imminent  de- 
parture. A  tall  woman,  and  he  but  of  average  height, 
their  eyes  were  nearly  on  a  level.  For  a  second  or  two  her 
dark  gaze  sought  his  with  a  strange  hesitation,  and  then, 
as  if  the  truth  in  him  awoke  all  the  truth  in  her,  the 
natural  daring  of  her  spirit  rose  proudly  to  meet  this  kin- 
dred soul.  She  would  let  no  falsehood,  no  craven  femi- 
nine subterfuge  intervene  between  them. 

"Do  not  thank  me,"  she  exclaimed,  glowing  with  a 
brilliant  scorn  in  which  the  greatness  of  her  beauty,  all 
worn  as  she  was,  struck  him  into  surprise,  yet  evoked  no 
spark  of  admiration.  "  What  I  did  I  did,  to  gratify  my- 
self. Oh,  aye,  if  I  were  as  other  women  I  should  smile 
and  take  your  compliments,  and  pose  as  the  martyr  and 
as  the  self-sacrificing  devoted  sister.  But  I  will  not.  It 
was  nothing  to  me  how  Madeleine  got  in  or  out  of  her 
love  scrapes.  I  would  not  have  gone  one  step  to  help 
her  break  her  promise  to  you,  or  even  to  save  your  life, 
but  that  it  pleased  me  so  to  do.  Madeleine  has  never 
chosen  to  make  me  her  confidant.  I  would  have  let  her 
manage  her  own  affairs  gaily,  had  I  had  better  things  to 
occupy  my  mind — but  I  had  not.  Captain  Smith.  Life  at 
Pulwick  is  monotonous.  I  have  roaming  blood  in  my 
veins  :  the  adventure  tempted,  amused  me,  fascinated 
me — and  there  you  have  the  truth  !  Of  course  I  could 
have  given  the  letter  to  the  men  and  sent  them  back  to 
you  with  it — it  was  not  because  of  my  promise  that  I  did 
not  do  it.      Of  course  I  could  have  spoken  the  instant  I 

got  on  board,  perhaps "  here  a  flood  of  colour  dyed 

her  face  with  a  gorgeous  conscious  crimson,  and  a  dim- 
ple  faintly  came  and  went  at  the  corner  of  her  mouth, 


THE  FIGHT  FOR  THE  OPEN  317 

"perhaps  I  would  have  spoken.     But  then,  you  must  re- 
member, you  closed  my  lips  !  " 

"  My  God  !  "  said  Captain  Jack,  and  looked  at  her  with 
a  sort  of  horror. 

But  this  she  could  not  see  for  her  eyes  were  downcast. 
"And  now  that  I  have  come,"  she  went  on,  and  would 
have  added,  "  I  am  glad  I  did,"  but  that  all  of  a  sudden  a 
new  bashfulness  came  upon  her,  and  she  stammered  in- 
stead, incoherently:  "As  for  Adrian — Rend  knew  I  had 
a  message  for  you,  and  Rene  will  tell  him — he  is  not  stupid 
— you  know — Rend,  I  mean." 

"  I  am  glad,"  answered  the  man  gravely,  after  a  pause, 
"  if  you  have  reasonable  grounds  for  believing  that  your 
husband  knows  you  to  be  on  my  ship.  He  will  then  be 
the  less  anxious  at  your  disappearance  :  for  he  knows  too, 
madam,  that  his  wife  will  be  as  honoured  and  as  guarded 
in  my  charge  as  she  would  be  in  her  mother's  house." 

He  bowed  again  in  a  stately  way  and  then  immediately 
left  her. 

Molly  sank  back  upon  her  couch,  and  she  could  not 
have  said  why,  burst  into  tears.  She  felt  cold  now,  and 
broken,  and  her  stiffening  wound  pained  her.  But  never- 
theless, as  she  lay  upon  the  little  velvet  pillow,  and  wept 
her  rare  tears  were  strangling  sobs,  the  very  ache  of  her 
wound  had  a  strange  savour  that  she  would  not  have 
exchanged  for  any  past  content. 

Rene,  having  obeyed  his  mistress's  orders,  and  left  her 
alone  with  the  sailors  on  the  beach,  withdrew  within  the 
shelter  of  the  door,  but  remained  waiting,  near  enough 
to  be  at  hand  in  case  he  should  be  called. 

It  was  still  pitch  dark  and  the  rollers  growled  under  a 
rough  wind  ;  he  could  catch  the  sound  of  a  man's  voice, 
now  and  again,  between  the  clamour  of  the  sea  and  the 
wuthering  of  the  air,  but  could  not  distinguish  a  word. 
Presently,  however, this  ceased,  and  there  came  to  him  the 
unmistakable  regular  beat  of  oars  retreating.  The  inter- 
view was  over,  and  breathing  a  sigh  of  relief  at  the  thought 
that,  at  last,  his  master's  friend  would  soon  be  setting 
on  his  way  to  safety,  the  servant  emerged  to  seek  her 
ladyship. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  dashed  into  Sir  Adrian's  room 
with  a  livid  face,  and  poured  forth  a  confused  tale  : 


3i8  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

Milady  had  landed  without  Mademoiselle  ;  had  stopped 
to  speak  to  two  of  the  Peregrine,  whilst  he  waited  apart. 
The  men  had  departed  in  their  boat. 

"  The /*erc^ri>2e  men  1  But  the  ship  has  been  out  of 
sight  these  eight  hours  !  "  ejaculated  Sir  Adrian,  bewil- 
dered. Then,  catching  fear  from  his  servant's  distraught 
countenance  : 

"My  wife,"  he  exclaimed,  bounding  up;  and  added, 
"you  left  her,  Renny  ?  " 

The  man  struck  his  breast  :  he  had  searched  and  called 
....  My  Lady  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  "  As  God  is 
my  witness,"  he  repeated,  "  I  was  within  call.  My  Lady 
ordered  me  to  leave  her.  Your  honour  knows  My  Lady 
has  to  be  obeyed." 

"Get  lanterns!"  said  Sir  Adrian,  the  anguish  of  a 
greater  dread  driving  the  blood  to  his  heart.  Even  to  one 
who  knew  the  ground  well,  the  isle  of  Scarthey,  on  a 
black,  stormy  night,  with  the  tide  high,  was  no  safe 
wandering  ground.  For  a  moment,  the  two — comrades 
of  so  many  miserable  hours — faced  each  other  with 
white  and  haggard  faces.  Then  with  the  same  deadly 
fear  in  their  hearts,  they  hurried  out  into  the  soughing 
wind,  down  to  the  beach,  baited  on  all  sides  by  the  swift- 
darting  hissing  surf.  Running  their  lanterns  close  to  the 
ground,  they  soon  found,  by  the  trampled  marks  upon 
the  sand,  where  the  conclave  had  been  held.  From  thence 
a  double  row  of  heavy  footprints  led  to  the  shelving  bit 
of  beach  where  it  was  the  custom  for  boats  to  land  from 
seawards. 

"  See,  your  honour,  see,"  cried  Rene,  in  deepest  agita- 
tion, "  the  print  of  this  little  shoe,  here — and  there,  and 
here  again,  right  down  to  the  water's  edge.  Thank  God 
— thank  God  !  I\Iy  Lady  has  had  no  accident.  She  has 
gone  with  the  sailors  to  the  boat.  Ah  1  here  the  tide  has 
come — we  can  see  no  farther." 

"  But  why  should  she  have  gone  with  them  .?  "  came, 
after  a  moment,  Sir  Adrian's  voice   out  of  the  darkness. 

"Surely  that    is    strange — and    yet Yes,  that   is 

indeed  her  foot-print  in  the  sand." 

"And  if  your  honour  will  look  to  sea,  he  will  perceive 
the  ship's  lights  yonder,  upon  the  water.  That  is  the  cap- 
tain's ship.  .  .  .  Your  honour,  I  must  avow  to  you  that  I 
have  concealed  something  from  you — it   was  wrong,  in- 


THE  FIGHT  FOR  THE  OPEN  319 

deed,  and  now  I  am  punished — but  that  poor  Monsieur 
the  Captain,  1  was  so  sorry  for  him,  and  he  so  enamoured. 
He  had  made  a  plan  to  lift  off  Mademoiselle  Madeleine 
with  him  to-night,  marry  her  in  France  ;  and  that  was 
why  he  came  back  again,  at  the  risk  of  his  life.  He  sup- 
plicated me  not  to  tell  you,  for  fear  you  would  wish  to 
prevent  it,  or  think  it  your  duty  to.  Mademoiselle  had 
promised,  it  seemed,  and  he  was  mad  with  her  joy,  the 
poor  gentleman  !  and  as  sure  of  her  faith  as  if  she  had 
been  a  saint  in  Heaven.  But  My  Lady  came  alone,  your 
honour,  as  I  said.  The  courage  had  failed  to  Mademoi- 
selle, I  suppose,  at  the  last  moment,  and  Madame  bore 
a  message  to  the  captain.  But  the  captain  was  not  able 
to  leave  his  ship,  it  seems;  and,  my  faith,"  cried  Mr. 
Potter ;  his  spirits  rising,  as  the  first  ghastly  dread  left 
him,  "the  mystery  explains  itself!  It  is  quite  simple, 
your  honour  will  see.  As  the  captain  did  not  come  to  the 
island,  according  to  his  promise  to  Mademoiselle — he  had 
good  reasons,  no  doubt — Madame  went  herself  to  his 
ship  with  her  message.  She  had  the  spirit  for  it — Ah  !  if 
Mademoiselle  had  had  but  a  little  of  it  to-night,  we  should 
not  be  where  we  are  !  " 

Sir  Adrian  caught  at  the  suggestion  out  of  the  depths  of 
his  despair.  "You  are  right,  Renny,  you  must  be  right. 
Yet,  on  this  rough  sea,  in  this  black  night — what  mad- 
ness !  The  boat,  instantly  ;  and  let  us  row  for  those 
lights  as  we  never  rowed  before  !  " 

Even  as  the  words  were  uttered  the  treble  glimmer 
vanished.  In  vain  they  strained  their  eyes  :  save  for  the 
luminous  streak  cast  by  their  own  beacon  lamp,  the 
gloom  was  unbroken. 

'*  His  honour  will  see,  a  boat  will  be  landing  instantly 
with  My  Lady  safe  and  sound,"  said  Rene  at  last.  But 
his  voice  lacked  confidence,  and  Sir  Adrian  groaned 
aloud. 

And  so  they  stood  alone  in  silence,  forced  into  inac- 
tion, that  most  cruel  addition  to  suspense,  by  the  dark- 
ness and  the  waters  which  hemmed  them  in  upon  every 
side.  The  vision  of  twenty  dangerous  places  where  one 
impetuous  footfall  might  have  hurled  his  darling  into  the 
cruel  beating  waves  painted  themselves — a  hideous  phan- 
tasmagory — upon  Sir  Adrian's  brain.  Had  the  merciless 
waters  of  the  earth  that  had  murdered  the  mother,  grasped 


320  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

at  the  child's  life  also  ?  He  raised  his  voice  in  a  wild  cry, 
it  seemed  as  if  the  wind  caught  it  from  him  and  tore  it 
into  shreds. 

"  Hark  !  "  whispered  Rene,  and  clasped  his  master's  icy 
hand.  Like  an  echo  of  Sir  Adrian's  cry,  the  far-off  ring 
of  a  human  voice  had  risen  from  the  sea. 

Again  it  came. 

"  C'estdela  mer,  Monseigneur  I  "  panted  the  man  ;  even 
as  he  spoke  the  darkness  began  to  lift.  Above  their  heads, 
unnoticed,  the  clouds  had  been  rifted  apart  beneath  the 
breath  of  the  north  wind  ;  the  horizon  widened,  a  misty 
wing-like  shape  was  suddenly  visible  against  the  receding 
gloom. 

The  captain's  ship  !     The  Peregrine  ! 

As  master  and  man  peered  outward  as  if  awaiting  un- 
consciously some  imminent  solution  from  the  gliding 
spectre,  it  seemed  as  if  the  night  suddenly  opened  on  the 
left  to  shoot  forth  a  burst  of  red  fire.  A  few  seconds 
later,  the  hollow  boom  of  cannon  shook  the  air  around 
them.     Sir  Adrian's  nails  were  driven  into  Rend's  hands. 

The  flaming  messenger  had  carried  to  both  minds  an 
instant  knowledge  of  the  new  danger. 

"Great  Heavens!"  muttered  Adrian,  "  He  will  sur- 
render ;  he  must  surrender  !  He  could  not  be  so  base, 
so  wicked,  as  to  fight  and  endanger  her  I" 

But  the  servant's  keener  sight,  trained  by  long  stormy 
nights  of  watching,  was  followmg  in  its  dwindling,  mys- 
terious course  that  misty  vision  in  which  he  thought  to 
recognize  the  Peregrine. 

"  Elle  file,  elle  file  joliment  la  goelelle !  Mother  ot 
Heaven,  there  goes  the  gun  again  !  I  never  thought  my 
blood  would  turn  to  water  only  to  hear  the  sound  of  one 
like  this.  But  your  honour  must  not  be  discouraged  ;  he 
can  surely  trust  the  captain.  Ah,  the  clouds — I  can  see 
no  more." 

The  wild  blast  gathering  fresh  droves  of  vapour  from 
the  huddled  masses  on  the  horizon  was  now,  in  truth, 
herding  them  fiercely  across  the  spaces  it  had  cleared  a 
few  moments  before.  Confused  shouts,  strange  clamour 
seemed  to  rmg  out  across  the  waves  to  the  listeners  :  or 
it  might  have  been  only  the  triumphant  bowlings  of  the 
rising  storm. 

"Will  not  your  honour  come  in  ?     The  rain  is  falling." 


THE  FIGHT  FOR  THE  OPEN  321 

"No,  Renny,  no,  give  me  my  lantern  again,  friend, 
and  let  us  examine  anew." 

Both  knew  it  to  be  of  no  avail,  but  physically  and  men- 
tally to  move  about  was,  at  least,  better  than  to  stand 
still.  Step  by  step  they  scanned  afresh  the  sand,  the 
shingle,  the  rocks,  the  walls,  to  return  once  more  to  the 
trace  of  the  slender  feet,  leading  beside  the  great  double 
track  of  heavy  sea  boots  to  the  water's  edge. 

Sir  Adrian  knelt  down  and  gazed  at  the  last  little  im- 
print that  seemed  to  mock  him  with  the  same  elusive 
daintiness  as  Molly  herself,  as  if  he  could  draw  from  it 
the  answer  to  the  riddle. 

Rene  endeavouring  to  stand  between  his  master  and 
the  driving  blast  laid  down  his  lantern  too,  and  strove  by 
thumping  his  breast  vigorously  to  infuse  a  little  warmth 
into  his  numbed  limbs  and  at  the  same  time  to  relieve  his 
overcharged  feelings. 

As  he  paused  at  length,  out  of  breath,  the  noise  of  a 
methodical  thud  and  splash  of  oars  arose,  above  the 
tumult  of  the  elements,  very  near  to  them,  upon  their 
left. 

Sir  Adrian  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"She  returns,  she  returns,"  shouted  Rene,  capering,  in 
the  excess  of  the  sudden  joy,  and  waving  his  lantern  ; 
then  he  sent  forth  a  vigorous  hail  which  was  instantly 
answered  close  by  the  shore. 

"Hold  up  your  light,  your  honour — ah,  your  honour, 
did  I  not  say  it  ? — while  I  go  to  help  Madame.  Now 
then,  you  others  down  there,"  running  to  the  landing 
spot,   "  make  for  the  light ! '"' 

The  keel  ground  upon  the  shingle. 

"  My  Lady  first,"  shouted  Rene. 

Some  one  leaped  up  in  the  boat  and  flung  him  a  rope 
with  a  curse. 

"The  lady,  ay,  ay,  my  lad,  you'd  better  go  and  catch 
her  yourself.  There  she  goes,"  pointing  enigmatically 
behind  him  with  his  thumb. 

Sir  Adrian,  unable  to  restrain  his  impatience,  ran  for- 
ward too,  and  threw  the  light  of  his  lantern  upon  the  dark 
figures  now  rising  one  by  one  and  pressing  forward.  Five 
or  six  men,  drenched  from  head  to  foot,  swearing  and 
grumbling  ;  with  faces  pinched  with  cold,  all  lowering 
with  the  same  expression  of  anger  and  resentment  and 
21 


322  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

shining  whitely  at  him  out  of  the  confusion.  He  saw  the 
emptying  seats,  the  shipped  oars,  the  name  Peregrine  in 
black  letters  upon  the  white  paint  of  the  dingey;  and 
she  ?  .  .   .   .   she  was  not  there ! 

The  revulsion  of  feeling  was  so  cruel  that  for  a  while 
he  seemed  turned  to  stone,  even  his  mind  becoming 
blank.  The  waves  lashed  in  up  to  his  knees  ;  he  never 
felt  them. 

Rene's  strong  hands  came  at  last  to  drag  him  away, 
and  then  Rene's  voice,  in  a  hot  whisper  close  to  his  ear, 
aroused  him  : 

"  It  is  good  news,  your  honour,  after  all,  good  news. 
My  Lady  is  on  board  the  Peregrine.  I  made  these  men 
speak.  They  are  the  revenue  men — that  God  may  damn 
them  !  and  they  were  after  the  captain  ;  but  he  ran  down 
their  cutter,  that  brave  captain.  And  these  are  all  that 
were  saved  from  her,  for  she  sank  like  a  stone.  The 
Peregrine  is  as  sound  as  a  bell,  they  say — ah,  she  is  a 
good  ship  I  And  the  captain,  out  of  his  kind  heart,  sent 
these  villains  ashore  in  his  own  boat,  instead  of  braining 
them  or  throwing  them  overboard.  But  they  saw  a  lady 
beside  him  the  whole  time,  tall,  in  a  great  black  cloak. 
My  Lady  in  her  black  cloak,  just  as  she  landed  here. 
Of  course  Monsieur  the  Captain  could  not  have  sent  her 
back  home  with  these  brigands  then — not  even  a  mes- 
sage— that  would  have  compromised  his  honour.  But  his 
honour  can  see  now  how  it  is.  And  though  My  Lady 
has  been  carried  out  to  sea,  he  knows  now  that  she  is 
safe, " 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
THE  THREE  COLOURS 

The  sun  was  high  above  the  Welsh  hills  ;  the  Peregrine 
had  sheered  her  way  through  a  hundred  miles  or  more  of 
fretted  waters  before  her  captain,  in  his  hammock  slung 
for  the  nonce  near  the  men's  quarters,  stirred  from  his 
profound  sleep — nature's  kind  restorer  to  healthy  brain 
and  limbs — after  the  ceaseless  fatigue  and  emotions  of  the 
last  thirty-six  hours. 

As  he  leaped  to  his  feet  out  of  the  swinging  canvas,  the 
usual  vigour  of  life  coursing  through  every  fibre  of  him, 
he  fell  to  wondering,  in  half-awake  fashion,  at  the  mean- 
ing of  the  unwonted  weight  lurking  in  some  back  recess 
of  consciousness. 

Then  memory,  the  ruthless,  arose  and  buffeted  his 
soul. 

The  one  thing  had  failed  him  without  which  all  else 
was  as  nothing  ;  fate,  and  his  own  hot  blood,  had  con- 
spired to  place  his  heart's  desire  beyond  all  reasonable 
hope.  Certain  phrases  in  Madeleine's  letter  crossed  and 
recrossed  his  mind,  bringing  now  an  unwonted  sting  of 
anger,  now  the  old  cruel  pain  of  last  night.  The  thought 
of  the  hateful  complication  introduced  into  his  already 
sufficiently  involved  affairs  by  the  involuntary  kidnapping 
of  his  friend's  wife  filled  him  with  a  sense  of  impotent 
irritation,  very  foreign  to  his  temper  ;  and  as  certain  looks 
and  words  of  the  unwished-for  prisoner  flashed  back  upon 
him,  a  hot  colour  rose,  even  in  his  solitude,  to  his  whole- 
some brown  cheek. 

But  in  spite  of  all,  in  spite  of  reason  and  feeling  alike 
his  essential  buoyancy  asserted  itself.  He  could  not  de- 
spair. He  had  not  been  given  this  vigour  of  soul  and 
body  to  sit  down  under  misfortune.  Resignation  was  for 
the  poor  of  heart ;  only  cravens  gave  up  while  it  was  yet 
possible  to  act.     His  fair  ship  was  speeding  with  him  as 

323 


324  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

he  loved  to  feel  her  speed  ;  around  him  spread  the  vast 
spaces  in  which  his  spirit  rejoiced — salt  sea  and  vaulted 
heavens  ;  the  full  air  of  the  open,  the  brisk  dash  of  the 
wind  filled  him  with  physical  exhilaration  at  every  breath, 
and  tingled  in  his  veins  ;  the  sporting  blood,  which  had 
come  to  him  from  generations  of  hunting  squires,  found 
all  its  craving  satisfied  in  this  coursing  across  the  green 
ocean  fields,  and  the  added  element  of  danger  was  as  the 
sting  of  the  brine  to  his  palate.  What — despair  now  ? 
with  his  perilous  enterprise  all  but  accomplished,  the 
whole  world,  save  one  country,  before  him,  and  Made- 
leine unwed  !  Another  might,  but  not  Jack  Smith  ;  not 
Hubert  Cochrane  ! 

He  was  actually  trolling  out  the  stave  of  a  song  as 
he  sprang  up  the  companion  ladder  after  his  rough  break- 
fast in  the  galley,  but  the  sound  expired  at  the  sight  of 
the  distant  flutter  of  a  woman's  scarf  in  the  stern  of  the 
ship.  He  halted  and  ran  his  fingers  through  his  crisp 
hair  with  an  expressive  gesture  of  almost  comical  per- 
plexity ;  all  would  be  plain  sailing  enough,  with  hope  at 
the  prow  again,  but  for  this — he  stamped  his  foot  to 
choke  down  the  oath  of  qualification — this  encumbrance. 
Adrian's  wife  and  Madeleine's  sister,  as  such  entitled  to 
all  honour,  all  care,  and  devotion  ;  and  yet,  as  such  again, 
hideously,  doubly  unwelcome  to  him  ! 

As  he  stood,  biting  his  lips,  while  the  gorgeous  sun- 
shine of  the  young  spring  morning  beat  down  upon  his 
bare  head,  the  brawny  figure  of  the  mate,  his  mahogany- 
tinted  face  wrinkled  into  as  stiff  a  grin  as  if  it  had  been 
indeed  carved  out  of  the  wood  in  question,  intervened  be- 
tween his  abstracted  gaze  and  the  restless  amber  beyond. 

"  It's  a  fine  day,  sir,"  by  way  of  opening  conversation. 

The  irrepressible  satisfaction  conveyed  by  the  wide 
display  of  tobacco-stained  teeth,  by  the  twinkle  in  the 
hard,  honest  eyes  called  up  a  queer,  rueful  grimace  to  the 
other  man's  face. 

"Do  you  know,  Curwen,"  he  said,  "that  you  brought 
me  the  wrong  young  lady  last  night  .-*  " 

The  sailor  jumped  back  in  amazement.  "The  wrong 
young  lady,  sir, "staring  with  starting,  incredulous  eye- 
balls, "the  wrong,  young  lady!"  here  he  clapped  his 
thigh,  "Well  of  all — the  wrong  young  lady!  Are  you 
quite  sure,  sir  ?  '' 


THE  THREE  COLOURS  325 

Captain  Jack  laughed  aloud.  But  it  was  with  a  bitter 
twist  at  the  corners  of  his  lips. 

"  Well  I'm ,"  said  poor  Curwen.    All  his  importance 

and  self-satisfaction  had  left  him  as  suddenly  as  the 
starch  a  soused  collar.  He  scanned  his  master's  face 
with  almost  pathetic  anxiety. 

"Oh,  I  don't  blame  you — you  did  your  part  all  right. 
Why,  I  myself  fell  into  the  same  mistake,  and  we  had 
not  much  time  for  finding  it  out,  had  we .''  The  lady  you 
see — the  lady — she  is  the  other  lady's  sister  and  she 
came  with  a  message.  And  so  we  carried  her  oft"  before 
we  knew  where  we  were — or  she  either,"  added  Captain 
Jack  as  a  mendacious  after  thought. 

"  Well  I'm ,"  reiterated  Curwen   who  then  rubbed 

his  scrubby,  bristling  chin,  scratched  his  poll  and  finally 
broke  into  another  grin — this  time  of  the  kind  classified 
as  sheepish. 

"And  what'U  be  to  do  now  ?  " 

"  By  the  God  that  made  me,  I  haven't  a  notion  !  We 
must  take  all  the  care  of  her  we  can,  of  course.  Serve 
her  her  meals  in  her  cabin,  as  was  arranged,  and  see 
that  she  is  attended  to,  just  as  the  other  young  lady 
would  have  been  you  know,  only  that  I  think  she  had 
better  be  served  alone,  and  I  shall  mess  downstairs  as 
usual.  And  then  if  we  can  leave  her  at  St.  Malo,  we 
shall.  But  it  must  be  in  all  safety,  Curwen,  for  it's  a 
terrible  responsibility.  Happily  we  have  now  the  time 
to  think.  Meanwhile  I  have  slept  like  a  log  and  she — I 
see  is  astir  before  me." 

"Lord  bless  you,  sir,  she  has  been  up  these  two  hours  ! 
Walking  the  deck  like  a  sailor,  and  asking  about  things 
and  enjoying  them  like.  Ah,  she  is  a  rare  lady,  that  she 
is!  And  it  is  the  wrong  one — well  this  is  a  go  !  And  I  was 
remarking  to  Bill  Baxter,  just  now,  that  it  was  just  our 
captain's  luck  to  have  found  such  a  regular  sailor's  young 
woman,  so  I  said — begging  pardon  for  the  word.  And 
not  more  than  he  is  worth,  says  he,  and  so  said  I  also. 
And  she  the  wrong  lady  after  all  !  Well,  it's  a  curious 
thing,  sir,  nobody  could  be  like  to  guess  it  from  her. 
She's  a  well-plucked  one,  with  her  wound  and  all.  She 
made  me  look  at  it  this  morning,  when  I  brought  her  a 
cup  of  coffee  and  a  bite  :  '  You're  old  enough  to  be  my 
father,'  says  she,  as  pretty  as  can  be,  'so  you  shall  be 


326  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

doctor  as  well  as  lady's  maid  ;  and,  if  you've  got  a  girl 
of  your  own,  it'll  be  a  story  to  tell  her  by  the  fire  at  night, 
when  you're  home  again,'  so  she  said;  and  never  winced 
when  I  put  my  great  fingers  on  her  arm.  I  was  all  of  a 
tremble,  I  declare,  with  her  a  smiling  up  at  me,  but  the 
wound — it's  doing  finely  ;  healing  as  nice  as  ever  I  see, 
and  not  a  sign  of  sickness  on  her.  The  very  lady  as  I 
was  saying,  for  our  captain — but  here  she  comes." 

This  was  an  unwontedly  long  speech  for  Curwen  ;  and, 
silent  again,  he  effaced  himself  discreetly,  just  in  time  to 
avoid  the  angry  ejaculation  that  had  sprung  to  his  cap- 
tain's lips,  but  not  without  a  backward  glance  of  admira- 
tion at  the  tall,  alert  figure  now  bearing  down  in  their 
direction  with  steps  already  firmly  balanced  to  the  move- 
ment of  the  ship. 

At  a  little  distance  from  Captain  Jack,  Molly  paused  as 
if  to  scrutmise  the  horizon,  and  enjoy  the  invigorating 
atmosphere.  In  reality  her  heart  was  beating  fast,  her 
breath  came  short  ;  and  the  gaze  she  flung  from  the  faint 
outline  of  coast  upon  one  side  to  the  vast  monotony  of 
sparkling  sea  upon  the  other  conveyed  no  impression  to 
her  troubled  mind.  The  next  instant  he  was  by  her  side. 
As  she  smiled  at  him,  he  noticed  that  her  face  was  pale, 
and  her  eyes  darkly  encircled. 

"Ah,  madam,"  said  he,  as  he  drew  close  and  lifted  his 
hand  to  his  head,  with  a  gesture  of  formal  courtesy  that 
no  doubt  somewhat  astonished  a  couple  of  his  men  who 
were  watching  the  group  with  covert  smiles  and  nudges, 
being  as  yet  unaware  of  the  misadventure,  "you  relieve 
my  mind  of  anxiety.  How  is  the  arm?  Does  it  make 
you  suffer  much.'*     No  !     You  must  be  strong  indeed." 

"Yes,  I  am  strong,"  answered  she,  and  flushed,  and 
looked  out  across  the  sea,  inhaling  the  air  with  dilated 
nostrils. 

Within  her,  her  soul  was  crying  out  to  him.  It  was  as 
if  there  was  a  tide  there,  as  fierce  and  passionate  as  the 
waves  around  her,  all  bearing,  straining  to  him,  and  this 
with  a  struggle  and  flow  so  resistless,  that  she  could  nei- 
ther remember  the  past,  nor  measure  the  future,  but  only 
feel  herself  carried  on,  beaten  and  tossed  upon  these  great 
waters,  like  a  helpless  wreck. 

"I  trust  you  are  well  attended  to,"  began  the  man  con- 
strainedly again.      "  I  fear  you  will  have  to  endure  much 


THE  THREE  COLOURS  327 

discomfort,     I  had  reckoned . "     Here  he  halted  galled 

by  the  thought  of  what  it  was  he  had  reckoned  upon,  the 
thought  of  the  watchful  love  that  was  to  have  made  of 
the  little  ship  a  very  nest  for  his  bride,  of  the  exquisite 
joy  it  was  to  have  harboured  !  And  he  set  his  teeth  at 
fate. 

She  played  for  a  while  with  her  little  finger  tips  upon 
the  rail,  then  turned  her  gaze,  full  and  bold,  upon  him. 

"  I  do  not  complain,"  she  said. 

He  bowed  gravely.      "  We  will  do  our  best  for  you,  and 
if  you  will  take  patience,  the  time  will  pass  at  last,  as  all 
time  passes.     I  have  a  few  books,  they  shall  be  brought 
into  your  cabin.      In  three  days  we  shall  be  in  St.  Malo^ 
There,  if  you  like "  he  hesitated,  embarrassed. 

"There  !"  echoed  Lady  Landale  with  her  eyes  still 
fixed  upon  his  downcast  face — "  If  I  like — what?" 

"We  could  leave  you " 

Her  bosom  rose  and  fell  quickly  with  stormy  breaths. 
"Alone,  moneyless,  in  a  strange  town — that  is  well  and 
kindly  thought !  "  she  said. 

Whence  had  come  to  her  this  strange  power  of  feeling 
pain  ?  She  had  not  known  that  one  could  suffer  in  one's 
heart  like  this  ;  she,  whose  quarrel  with  life  hitherto  had 
been  for  its  too  great  comfort,  security  and  peace.  She 
felt  a  lump  rise  to  her  throat,  and  tears  well  into  her  eyes, 
blurring  all  the  sunlit  vision  and  she  turned  her  head 
away  and  beat  her  sound  left  hand  clenched  upon  the 
ledge. 

"  Before  heaven,"  cried  Jack,  distressed  out  of  his 
unnatural  stiffness,  "you  mistake  me.  Lady  Landale  I  I 
am  only  anxious  to  do  what  is  best  for  you,  what  Adrian 
would  wish.  To  leave  you  alone,  deserted,  helpless  at 
St.  Malo,  you  could  not  have  thought  I  should  mean  that  ? 
No,  indeed,  I  would  have  seen  you  into  safe  hands,  in 
some  comfortable  hotel,  with  a  maid  to  wait  upon  you — 
I  know  of  such  a  place — Adrian  could  not  have  been 
long  in  coming  to  fetch  you.  I  should  have  had  a  letter 
ready  to  post  to  him  the  instant  we  landed.  As  to  money," 
flushing  boyishly,  "  that  is  the  least  consideration — there 
is  no  dearth  of  that  to  fear.  If  you  prefer  it  I  can,  however, 
convey  you  somewhere  upon  the  English  coast  after  we 
quit  St.  Malo  ;  but  that  will  entail  a  longer  residence  for 
you  here  on  board  ship  ;  and  it  is  no  fit  place  for  you." 


328  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

Still  looking^  out  across  the  sea,  Molly  replied,  in  a  deep 
shaken  voice,  unlike  her  own,  "You  did  not  think  it  unfit 
for  my  sister." 

"  Your  sister?  But  your  sister  was  to  have  been  my 
wife  !  •' 

Burning  through  the  mists  of  her  unshed  tears  once 
more  her  glance  returned  to  his  :  ' '  And  I — "  she  cried  and 
here  was  suddenly  silent  again,  gazing  at  the  thin  circlet  of 
gold  upon  her  left  hand,  beneath  the  flashing  diamonds. 
After  a  moment  then,  she  broke  out  fiercely — "Oh  do 
with  me  what  you  will,  but  for  God's  sake  leave  me  in 
peace  !  "  And  stamping,  turned  her  shoulder  on  him  to 
stare  straiyfht  outwards  as  before. 

Captain  Jack  drew  back,  paused  an  instant,  clutched 
his  hair  with  a  desperate  gesture  and  slowly  walked 
away. 

The  voyage  of  the  Peregrine  was  as  rapid  as  her  captain 
had  hoped,  and  the  dawn  of  the  fourth  day  broke  upon 
them  from  behind  the  French  coast,  where  Normandy 
joins  old  Armorica. 

For  a  little  while,  Lady  Landale,  awakened  from  her 
uneasy  sleep  by  the  unusual  stir  on  deck,  lay  languidly 
watching  the  light  as  it  filtered  through  the  port-hole  of 
her  little  cabin,  the  colours  growing  out  of  greyness  on 
the  walls  ;  listening  to  the  tramp  of  feet  and  the  mate's 
husky  voice  without.  Then  her  heart  tightened  with  a 
premonition  of  the  coming  separation.  She  sat  up  and 
looked  out  of  her  window  :  as  the  horizon  rose  and  fell 
giddily  to  her  eye  there  lay  the  fatal  line  of  land.  The 
land  of  her  blood  but  to  her  now,  the  land  of  exile  ! 

She  had  seen  but  little  of  Captain  Jack  these  last  two 
days  ;  interchanged  but  few  and  formal  words  with  him, 
now  and  then,  as  they  met  morning  and  evening  or  came 
across  each  other  during  the  day.  She  felt  that  he  avoided 
her.  But  she  had  seen  him,  she  had  heard  his  voice,  they 
had  been  close  to  each  other  upon  the  great  seas,  however 
divided,  and  this  had  been  something  to  feed  upon.  Now 
what  prospect  before  her  hungry  heart  but — starvation  ? 

At  least  the  last  precious  moments  should  not  be  lost 
to  her.  She  rose  and  dressed  in  haste  ;  a  difficult  opera- 
tion in  her  maimed  state.  Before  leaving  her  narrow 
quarters,    she    peered   into    the    looking-glass    with    an 


THE  THREE  COLOURS  329 

eag-erness  she  had  never  displayed  in  the  days  of  her  vain 
girlhood. 

"What  a  fright!"  she  said  to  the  anxious  face  that 
looked  back  at  her  with  yearning  eyes  and  dark  burning 
lips.  And  she  thought  of  Madeleine's  placid  fairness  as 
Cain  might  of  Abel's  modest  altar. 

When  she  emerged  upon  deck,  a  strange  and  beautiful 
scene  was  spread  to  her  gaze.  A  golden  haze  enveloped 
the  water  and  the  coast,  but  out  of  it,  in  brown  jagged 
outline,  against  the  blazing  background  of  glowing  sun- 
light rose  the  towers,  the  pointed  roofs  and  spires  of  that 
old  corsair's  hive,  St.  Malo.  The  waters  were  bright  green, 
frothed  with  oily  foam  around  the  ship.  The  masts  cast 
strange  long  black  shadows,  and  Molly  saw  one  spring 
from  her  own  feet  as  she  moved  into  the  morning  glow. 
The  Peregrine,  she  noticed,  was  cruising  parallel  with  the 
coast,  instead  of  making  for  the  harbour,  and  just  now  all 
was  very  still  on  board.  Two  men,  conspicuous  against 
the  yellow  sky,  stood  apart,  a  little  forward,  with  their 
backs  turned  to  her. 

One  of  these  was  Captain  Jack,  gazing  steadily  at  the 
town  through  a  telescope  ;  the  other  the  mate.  Both  were 
silent.  Silently  herself  and  unnoticed  Molly  went  up  and 
stood  beside  them  ;  observing  her  sister's  lover  as  intently 
as  he  that  unknown  distant  point,  she  presently  saw  the 
lean  hand  nearest  her  tremble  ever  so  slightly  as  it  held 
the  glass  ;  then  he  turned  and  handed  it  to  his  companion, 
saying  briefly,    "  See  what  you  make  of  it." 

The  man  lifted  the  glass,  set  it,  looked,  dropped  his 
hand  and  faced  his  captain.  Their  eyes  met,  but  neither 
spoke  for  a  second  or  two. 

"It  is  so,  then  .?  "  said  the  captain  at  last. 

"Aye,  sir,  no  mistake  about  that.  There's  the  tricolour 
up  again — and  be  damned  to  it — as  large  as  life,  to  be 
sure  !  " 

The  healthy  tan  of  the  captain's  face  had  not  altered 
by  one  shade  :  his  mouth  was  set  in  its  usual  firm  line, 
but,  by  the  intuition  of  her  fiery  soul,  the  womaii  beside 
him  knew  that  he  had  received  a  blow. 

"  A  strange  thing,"  went  on  Curwen  in  a  grumbling 
guttural  bass,  "and  it's  only  a  year  ago  since  they  set  up 
the  old  white  napkm  again.  You  did  not  look  for  this, 
sir  ?  "     He  too  had  his  intuitions. 


330  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

"No,  Curwen,  it  is  the  last  thing  I  looked  for.  And 
it  spells  failure  to  me — failure  once  more  !  " 

As  he  spoke  he  turned  his  head  slightly  and  perceiving 
Molly  standing  close  behind  him  glanced  up  sharply  and 
frowned,  then  strove  to  smooth  his  brow  into  conven- 
tional serenity  and  greeted  her  civilly. 

Curwen,  clenching  his  hard  hands  together  round  the 
telescope,  retired  a  stsp  and  stood  apart,  still  hanging  on 
his  captain's  every  gesture  like  a  faithful  dog. 

"What  does  it  mean.?"  asked  Molly,  disregarding  the 
morning  salutation. 

"It  means  strange  things  to  France,"  responded  Cap- 
tain Jack  slowly,  with  a  bitter  smile  ;  ' '  and  to  me.  Madam, 
it  means  that  I  have  come  on  a  wild  goose  chase " 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  for  the  glass  once  more  as 
he  spoke — although  even  by  the  naked  eye  the  flag,  minute 
as  it  was,  could  be  seen  to  flash  red  in  the  breeze — and 
sought  the  far-off  flutter  again  ;  and  then  closing  the 
instrument  with  an  angry  snap,  tossed  it  back. 

"But  what  does  it  mean?"  reiterated  Molly,  a  wild 
impatience,  a  wild  hope  trembling  in  her  breast. 

"  It  means.  Madam,  that  I  have  brought  my  pigs  to  the 
wrong  market,"  cried  Captain  Jack,  still  with  the  smile 
that  sat  so  strangely  upon  his  frank  lips  ;  "  that  the  goods 
I  have  to  deliver,  I  cannot  deliver.  For  if  there  is  any 
meaning  in  symbols,  by  the  wave  of  that  tricolour  yonder 
the  country  has  changed  rulers  again.  My  dealings  were 
to  be  with  the  king's  men,  and  as  they  are  not  here,  at 
least,  no  longer  in  power — how  could  they  be  under  that 
rag  ? — I  must  even  trot  the  cargo  home  again.  Not  a 
word  to  the  men,  Curwen,  but  give  the  order  to  sheer  off! 
We  have  lowered  the  blue,  white  and  red  too  often,  have 
not  we  ?  to  risk  a  good  English  ship,  unarmed,  under  the 
nozzles  of  those  Republican  or  Imperial  guns." 

The  man  grinned.  The  two  could  trust  each  other. 
Molly  turned  away  and  moved  seawards,  for  she  knew 
that  the  joy  upon  her  face  was  not  to  be  hidden.  Cap- 
tain Jack  fell  to  pacing  the  deck  with  bent  head,  and 
long,  slow  steps. 

Absorbed  in  dovetailing  the  last  secret  arrangements 
of  his  venture,  and  more  intent  still,  during  his  very  few 
hours  of  idleness,  on  the  engrossing  thought  of  love,  he 
had  had  no  knowledge  of  the  extraordinary  challenge  to 


THE  THREE  COLOURS  33i 

fate  cast  by  Bonaparte,  of  that  challenge  which  was  to 
end  in  the  last  and  decisive  clash  of  French  and  English 
hosts.  He  had  not  even  heard  of  the  Corsican's  return 
to  France  with  his  handful  of  grenadiers,  for  newspapers 
were  scarce  at  Scarthey.  But  even  had  he  heard,  like 
the  rest  of  the  world,  he  would  no  doubt  have  thought 
no  more  of  it  than  as  a  mad  freak  born  of  the  vanquished 
usurper's  foolhardy  restlessness. 

But  the  conclave  of  plenipotentiaries  assembled  at 
Vienna  were  not  more  thunderstruck  when,  on  that  very 
19th  of  March,  the  semaphore  brought  them  news  of  the 
legitimate  King  of  France  once  more  fled,  and  of  his 
country  once  more  abandoned  to  the  hated  usurper,  than 
was  Captain  Jack  as  he  watched  the  distant  flagstaff  in 
the  sunrise,  and  saw,  when  the  morning  port  gun  had 
vomited  forth  its  white  cloud  on  the  ramparts  of  St.  Malo, 
the  fatal  stripes  run  up  the  slender  line  in  lieu  of  the 
white  standard. 

But  Jack  Smith's  mind,  like  his  body,  was  quick  in 
action.  The  sun  had  travelled  but  a  degree  or  two  over 
the  wide  undulating  land,  the  mists  were  yet  rising, 
when  suddenly  he  halted,  and  called  the  mate  in  those 
commanding  tones  that  had,  from  the  first  time  she  had 
heard  them,  echoed  in  Molly's  heart : 

"Bring  her  alongside  one  of  those  smacks  yonder,  the 
furthest  out  to  sea." 

Thereupon  followed  Curwen's  hoarse  bellow,  an  ordered 
stampede  upon  the  deck,  and  gracefully,  with  no  more 
seeming  effort  than  a  swan  upon  a  garden  pond,  the 
Peregrine  veered  and  glided  towards  the  rough  skiff  with 
its  single  ochre  sail  and  its  couple  of  brown-faced  fisher- 
men, who  had  left  their  nets  to  watch  her  advance. 
Captain  Jack  leant  over  the  side,  his  hands  over  his 
mouth,  and  hailed  them  in  his  British-French — correct 
enough,  but  stiff  to  his  tongue,  as  Molly  heard  and  smiled 
at,  and  loved  him  for,  in  woman's  way,  when  she  loves 
at  all. 

"Ahoy,  the  friend  !  A  golden  piece  for  him  who  will 
come  on  board  and  tell  the  news  of  the  town." 

A  brief  consultation  between  the  fisher  pair. 

"  Un  icu  d'or,"  repeated  Captain  Jack.     Then  there  was 
a  flash  of  white  teeth  on  the  two  weather-beaten  faces. 
"  Ony  va,  patron,"  cried  one  of  the  fellows,  cheerfully, 


332  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

and  jumped  into  his  dinghey,  while  his  comrade  still 
stared  and  grinned,  and  the  stalwart  lads  of  the  Peregrine 
grinned  back  at  the  queer  foreign  figure  with  the  brown 
cap  and  the  big  gold  earrings. 

Soon  the  fisherman's  bare  feet  were  thudding  on  the 
deck,  and  he  stood  before  the  English  captain,  cap  in 
hand,  his  little,  quick  black  eyes  roaming  in  all  direc- 
tions, over  the  wonders  of  the  beautiful  white  ship,  with 
innocent  curiosity.  But  before  Captain  Jack  could  get 
his  tongue  round  another  French  phrase,  Molly,  detach- 
ing herself  from  her  post  of  observation,  came  forward, 
smiling. 

"Let  me  speak  to  him,"  she  said,  "he  will  understand 
me  better,  and  it  will  go  quicker.  What  is  it  you  want 
to  know  ? " 

Captain  Jack  hesitated  a  moment,  saw  the  advantage 
of  the  suggestion,  and  then  accepted  the  offer  with  the 
queer  embarrassment  that  always  came  over  him  in  his 
relations  with  her. 

"  You  are  very  good,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  I  like  to  talk  the  father  and  mother  tongue,"  she 
said,  gaily  and  sweetly.  Her  eyes  danced  ;  he  had  never 
seen  her  in  this  mood,  and,  as  before,  grudgingly  had  to 
admit  her  beauty. 

"  And  if  you  will  allow  it,"  she  went  on,  "  I  am  glad 
to  be  of  use  too." 

The  fisherman,  twirling  his  cap  in  his  knotted  fingers, 
stared  at  her  open  mouthed.  Une  si  belle  dame  !  like  a 
queen  and  speaking  his  tongue  that  it  was  a  music  to 
listen  to.  This  was  in  truth  a  ship  of  marvels.  Ah,  bon 
Dieu,  oui,  Madame,  there  were  news  at  St.  Malo,  but  it 
depended  upon  one's  feelings  whether  they  were  to  be 
regarded  as  good  or  bad — Dame,  every  one  has  one's 
opinions — but  for  him — poiirvu  qu'oti  lui  fiche  la  paix — 
what  did  it  matter  who  sat  on  the  throne — His  Majesty 
the  King — His  Majesty  the  Emperor,  or  Citizen  Bona- 
parte. Oh,  a  poor  fisherman,  what  was  it  to  him  .••  He 
occupied  himself  with  his  little  fishes,  not  with  great  folk. 
(Another  white-teethed  grin.)  What  had  happened.?  Par- 
bleu,  it  began  by  the  military,  those  accursed  military 
(this  with  a  cautious  look  around,  and  gathering  courage 
by  seeing  no  signs  of  disapproval,  proceeding  with  greater 
volubility).     The  poor  town  was  full  of  them,   infantry 


THE  THREE  COLOURS  333 

and  artillery  ;  regiments  of  young  devils — and  a  band  of 
old  ones  too.  The  veterans  of  celui  la  (spitting  on  the 
deck  contemptuously)  they  were  the  worst  ;  that  went 
without  saying.  A  week  ago  there  came  a  rumour  that 
he  had  escaped — was  in  France — and  then  the  ferment 
began — duels  every  day — rows  in  the  caf^s,  fights  in  the 
ports.  At  night  one  would  hear  shouts  in  the  streets — 
Vive  r Empereur  !  and  it  spread,  it  spread.  Ala  /oi — one 
regiment  mutinied,  then  another — and  then  it  was  known 
that  the  Emperor  had  reached  Paris.  Oh,  then  it  was 
warm  !  All  those  gentlemen,  the  officers  who  were  for 
the  King,  were  arrested.  Then  there  was  a  grand 
parade  on  the  place  d'armes — Yes,  he  went  there  too, 
though  he  did  not  care  much  about  soldiers.  All  the 
garrison  was  there.  The  colonel  of  the  veterans  came 
out  with  a  flag  in  its  case.  Portez  armes  !  Good.  They 
pull  out  the  flag  from  the  case  :  it's  the  old  tricolour  with 
the  eagle  on  the  top  !  Presentez  armes  !  And  this  time 
it  was  all  over.  Ah,  one  should  have  seen  that,  heard 
the  houras,  seen  the  bonfires  !  Monsieur  le  Maire  and  the 
rest,  appointed  by  the  King,  they  were  in  a  great  fright, 
they  had  to  give  way — what  does  Madame  say.?  Trait- 
ors }  Oh,  hedame  (scratching  his  head),  it  was  no  joke 
with  the  military  just  noW' — the  whole  place  was  under 
military  law  and,  saperlotte,  when  the  strong  commands 
it  is  best  for  the  weak  to  obey.  As  for  him,  he  was  only 
a  poor  fisherman.  What  did  he  know .''  he  was  not  a 
politician  :  every  one  to  his  trade.  So  long  as  they  let 
one  have  the  peace — He  thanked  the  gentleman,  thanked 
him  much  ;  thanked  the  lady,  desired  to  wish  her  the 
good-morning  and  Monsieur  too.  Did  they  like  no  little 
fresh  soles  this  morning?  He  had  some  leaping  then 
below  in  his  boat.     No  ?  well  the  good-morning  then. 

They  had  heard  enough.  The  fisherman  paddled  back 
to  his  skiff,  and  Molly  stood  watching  from  a  little  distance 
the  motionless  figure  of  the  captain  of  the  Peregrine  as 
with  one  hand  clenching  the  hand-rail  he  gazed  towards 
St.  Malo  with  troubled  eyes. 

After  a  few  minutes  Curwen  advanced  and  touched  him 
lightly  on  the  arm. 

Captain  Jack  turned  slowly  to  look  at  him  :  his  face 
was  a  little  pale  and  his  jaw  set.  But  the  mate,  who  had 
served  under  him  since  the  day  he  first  stepped  upon  the 


334  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

old  S/.  Nicholas,  a  gallant,  fair-faced  lad  (and  who  knew 
"  every  turn  of  him,"  as  he  would  have  expressed  it  him- 
self), saw  that  he  had  taken  his  decision  ;  and  he  stepped 
back  satisfied,  ready  to  shape  his  course  for  the  near 
harbour,  or  for  the  Pacific  Ocean,  or  back  to  Scarthey 
itself  at  his  master's  biddincr. 

* '  Call  the  men  up, "  said  the  captain,  ' '  they  have  earned 
their  bounty  and  they  shall  have  it.  Though  their  skip- 
per is  a  poorer  man  than  he  thought  to  be,  by  this  fool's 
work  yonder,  his  good  lads  shall  not  suffer.  Tush,  man, 
that's  the  order — not  a  word.  And  after  that,  Curwen, 
let  her  make  for  the  sea  again,  northwards." 


CHAPTER    XXVII 
THE  LIGHT  AGAIN— THE  LADY  AND  THE  CARGO 

Does  not  all  the  blood  within  me 
Leap  to  meet  thee,  leap  to  meet  thee, 
As  the  spring  to  meet  the  sunshine  1 

Hiawatha. 

"CuRWEN,"  said  Captain  Jack,  suddenly — the  two  stood 
together  at  the  helm  on  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day, 
and  the  Peregrine  was  once  more  alone,  a  speck  upon 
the  waste  of  waters,  "  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  return 
to  Scarlhey." 

The  mate  wagged  his  bushy  eyebrows  and  shifted  his 
hand  on  the  helm.  "Ay,  ay,  sir,"  he  said,  after  just  an 
instant's  pause. 

"  I  would  not  run  you  and  the  men  into  unnecessary 
danger,  that  you  may  be  sure  of ;  but  the  fact  is.  Cur- 
wen,  I'm  in  a  devil  of  a  fix  all  round.  There's  no  use 
hiding  it  from  you.  And,  all  things  considered,  to  land 
the  lady  and  the  cargo  at  the  lighthouse  itself,  gives  me 
as  fair  a  chance  of  getting  out  of  it  as  any  plan  I  can 
think  of.  The  cargo's  not  all  my  own  and  it's  a  valuable 
one,  I  daresay  you  have  guessed  as  much  ;  and  it's  not 
the  kind  we  want  revenue  men  to  pry  into.  I  could  not 
unload  elsewhere  that  I  know  of,  without  creating  sus- 
picion. As  to  storing  it  elsewhere,  it's  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. Scarthey's  the  place,  though  it's  a  damned  risky 
one  just  now  !  But  we've  run  many  a  risk  together  in 
our  day,  have  we  not  ?  " 

"  Ay,  sir  ;  who's  afraid  ?  " 

"Then  there's  the  lady,"  lowering  his  voice;  "she's 
Lady  Landale,  my  friend's  wife,  the  wife  of  the  best 
friend  ever  man  had.  Ay,  you  remember  him,  I  doubt 
not — the  gentleman  seaman  of  the  Porcupine — I  owe  him 
more  than  I  can  ever  repay,  and  he  owes  me  something 

335 


336  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

too.     That  sort  of  thing  binds  men  together  ;  and  see 
what  I  have  done  to  him — carried  off  his  wife  !  " 

Curwen  grunted,  enigmatically,  and  disengaged  a  hand 
to  scratch  his  chin. 

"  I  must  have  speech  with  him.  I  must,  it  is  enough 
to  drive  me  mad  to  think  what  he  may  be  thinking  of  me. 
What  I  purpose  is  this  :  we'll  disguise  the  ship  as  far  as 
we  can  (we  have  the  time),  paint  her  a  new  streak  and 
alter  those  topsails,  change  the  set  of  the  bowsprit  and 
strike  out  her  name." 

"That's  unlucky,"  said  the  mate. 

"Unlucky,  is  it.?  Well,  she's  not  been  so  lucky  this 
run  that  we  need  fear  to  change  the  luck.  Then,  Curwen, 
we'll  slip  in  at  night  at  a  high  tide,  watching  for  our  op- 
portunity and  a  dark  sky  ;  we'll  unship  the  cargo,  and 
then  you  shall  take  command  of  her  and  carry  her  off  to 
the  East  Coast  and  wait  there,  till  I  am  able  to  send  you 
word  or  join  you.  It  will  only  be  a  few  hours  danger 
for  the  men,  after  all." 

Still  keeping  his  seaman  eye  upon  the  compass,  Cur- 
wen cleared  his  throat  with  a  gruesome  noise.  Then  in 
tones  which  seemed  to  issue  with  difficulty  from  some 
immense  depth  : 

"Beg  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  "that  ain't  a  bargain," 

"How  now.?"  cried  his  captain,  sharply. 

"No,  sir,"  rolling  his  head  portentously  ;  "that  don't 
run  to  a  bargain,  that  don't.  The  lads  of  the  Peregrine 
'11  stick  to  their  skipper  through  thick  and  thin.  I'll  war- 
rant them,  every  man  Jack  of  them  ;  and  if  there  was 
one  who  grumbled,  I'd  have  my  knife  in  him  before  an- 
other caught  the  temper  from  him — I  would,  or  my  name's 
not  Curwen.  If  ye  bid  us  steer  to  hell  we'll  do  it  for  you, 
sir,  and  welcome.  But  for  to  go  and  leave  you  there — 
no,  sir,  it  can't  be  done." 

Captain  Jack  gave  a  little  laugh  that  was  as  tender  as 
a  woman's  tear.  Curwen  rolled  his  head  again  and 
mumbled  to  himself: 

"  It  can't  be  done." 

Then  Jack  Smith  clapped  his  hand  on  the  sailor's 
shoulder. 

"  But  it's  got  to  be  done  !  "  he  cried.  "  It  is  the  only 
thing  you  can  do  to  help  me,  Curwen.  To  have  our 
Peregrine  out  in  the  daylight  on  that  coast  would  be  stark 


THE  LIGHT  AGAIN  337 

madness — no  disguise  could  avail  her,  and  you  can't 
change  your  ugly  old  phiz,  can  you  ?  As  for  me,  I  must 
have  a  few  days  on  shore,  danger  or  no  danger.  Ah, 
Curwen,"  with  a  sudden,  passionate  outbreak,  "  there  are 
times  when  a  man's  life  is  the  least  of  his  thoughts  1  " 

"  Couldn't  I  stop  with  you,  sir?" 

"  I  would  not  trust  the  ship  to  another,  and  you  would 
double  the  risk  for  me. " 

"  I  could  double  a  blow  for  you  too,"  cried  the  fellow, 
hoarsely.  "But  if  it's  got  to  be — it  must  be.  I'll  do  it, 
sir. " 

"I  count  on  it,"  said  the  captain,  briefly. 

As  the  ring  of  his  retreating  steps  died  away  upon  his 
ear  the  mate  shook  his  head  in   melancholy  fashion  : 

"Women,"  he  said,  "is  very  well,  I've  nought  to  say 
against  them  in  their  way.  And  the  sea's  very  well — as 
I  ought  to  know.  But  women  and  the  sea,  it  don't  agree. 
They's  jealous  one  of  the  other  and  a  man  gets  torn 
between." 

As  Molly  sat  in  her  cabin,  watching  the  darkening  sky 
outside  with  dreaming  eyes,  she  started  on  seeing  Cap- 
tain Jack  approach,  and  instead  of  passing  her  with  cold 
salute,  halt  and  look  in. 

"  I  would  speak  a  word  with  you,"  he  said. 

"On  deck,  then,"  said  Molly.  She  felt  somehow  as  if 
under  the  broad  heaven  they  were  nearer  each  other  than 
in  that  narrow  room.  The  sea  was  rough,  the  wind  had 
risen  and  still  blew  from  the  north,  it  was  cold ;  but  her 
blood  ran  too  fast  these  days  to  heed  it. 

She  drew  one  of  the  capes  of  her  cloak  over  her  head 
and  staggering  a  little,  for  the  schooner,  sailing  close 
to  the  wind,  pitched  and  rolled  to  some  purpose,  she 
made  for  her  usual  station  at  the  bulwarks. 

"Well? "she  asked. 

He  briefly  told  her  his  purpose  of  returning  to  Scar- 
they  direct. 

Her  eye  dilated ;  she  grew  pale. 

"Is  that  not  dangerous?  " 

He  made  a  contemptuous  gesture, 

"  But  they  must  be  watching  for  you  on  that  coast. 
You  have  sunk  the  boat — killed  those  men.  To  return 
there— My  God,  what  folly  !  " 

"I  must  land  my  goods,  Madam.     You    forget   that  I 
2? 


338  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

have  more  contraband  on  board  than,  smuggler  as  I  am, 
even  I  bargained  for. " 

"If  it  is  for  me? — I  would  rather  fling  myself  into  the 
waves  this  instant  than  that  you  should  expose  yourself 
to  danger." 

"Then  I  should  fling  myself  after  you,  and  that  would 
be  more  dangerous  still." 

He  smiled  a  little  mockingly  upon  her  as  he  spoke  ; 
but  the  words  called  a  transient  fire  into  her  face. 

"You  would  risk  your  life  to  save  me? "  she  cried. 

"To  save  Adrian's  wife.  Madam." 

''Bah!" 

He  would  have  gone  then,  but  she  held  him  with  her 
free  hand.  She  was  again  white  to  the  lips.  But  her 
eyes — how  they  burned  ! 

He  would  have  given  all  his  worth  to  avoid  what  he 
felt  was  coming,  A  woman,  at  such  a  juncture  may  for- 
bid speech,  or  deny  her  ear  :  a  man,  unless  he  would 
seem  the  first  of  Josephs  or  the  last  of  coxcombs,  dare  not 
even  hint  at  his  unwelcome  suspicions. 

"I  will  not  have  you  go  into  this  danger,  I  will  not  !  " 
stammered  Molly  incoherently.  The  dusk  was  spread- 
ing, and  her  eyes  seemed  to  grow  larger  and  larger  in 
the  uncertain  light. 

"Lady  Landale,  you  misunderstand.  It  is  true  that  to 
see  you  safely  restored  to  your  husband's  roof  is  an  added 
reason  for  my  return  to  Scarthey — but  were  you  not  on 
board,  I  should  go  all  the  same.  I  will  tell  you  why,  it 
is  a  secret,  but  you  shall  know  it.  I  have  treasures  on 
board,  vast  treasures  confided  to  me,  and  I  must  store 
them  in  safety  till  I  can  give  them  back  to  their  rightful 
owners.  This  I  can  only  do  at  Scarthey — for  to  cruise 
about  with  such  a  cargo  indefinitely  is  as  impossible  as 
to  land  it  elsewhere.  And  more  than  this,  had  I  not  that 
second  reason,  I  have  yet  a  third  that  urges  me  to  Scar- 
they still." 

"For  Madeleine?"  she  whispered,  and  her  teeth 
gleamed  between  her  lips. 

He  remained  silent  and  tried  gently  to  disengage  him- 
self from  her  slender  fingers,  but  the  feeling  of  their 
frailness,  the  knowledge  of  her  wound,  made  her  feeble 
grasp  as  an  iron  vice  to  his  manliness. 

She  came  closer  to  him. 


THE  LIGHT  AGAIN  339 

*'  Do  you  not  remember  then — what  she  has  said  to 
you  ?  what  she  wrote  to  you  in  cold  blood — the  coward — 
in  the  very  moment  when  you  were  staking  your  life  for 
love  of  her?  I  remember,  if  you  do  not — '  You  have  de- 
ceived me,'  she  wrote,  and  her  hand  never  trembled, 
for  the  words  ran  as  neatly  and  primly  as  ever  they  did 
in  her  convent  copy  books.  '  You  are  not  what  you 
represented  yourself  to  be — You  have  taken  advantage 
of  the  inexperience  of  an  ignorant  girl,  I  have  been  de- 
luded and  deceived.  I  never  wish  to  see  you,  to  hear 
of  you  again.' " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Lady  Landale "cried  the  man 

fiercely. 

Molly  laughed — one  of  those  laughs  that  have  the  ring 
of  madness  in  them. 

"Do  I  not  remember  .?  Ah,  that  is  not  all  !  She  knows 
you  now  for  what  you  are,  knows  what  your  '  mission  ' 
is — but  you  must  not  believe  she  writes  in  anger.  No, 
she " 

Captain  Jack's  patience  could  bear  no  further  strain. 

"  Be  silent,"  he  commanded  fiercely,  and  wrenched  his 
arm  away  to  face  her  with  menacing  eyes. 

"Ah,  does  it  rouse  so  much  anger  in  you  even  to  hear 
repeated  what  she  did  not  hesitate  to  write,  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  allow  me  to  read  ?  And  yet  you  love  her.?  If  you 
had  seen  her,  if  you  knew  her  as  I  do  !  I  tell  you  she 
means  it ;  when  she  wrote  that  she  was  not  angry  ;  it 
was  the  truth — she  did  it  in  cold  blood.  She  loved  you, 
you  think,  and  yet  she  believed  you  a  liar  ;  she  loved 
you,  and  she  thinks  you  a  traitor  to  all  she  holds  dear. 
She  believes  that  oi  jyou,  and  you  ....  you  love  her 
still !  " 

"Lady  Landale!  " 

"  Listen — she  could  never  love  you,  as  you  should  be 
loved.  She  was  not  born  your  kin.  Between  you  and 
her  there  is  nothing — nothing  but  your  own  fancy.  Do 
not  risk  your  life  again  for  her — your  life  !" 

She  stopped,  drew  her  breath  with  a  long  gasp,  the 
spray  from  a  turbulent  wave  came  dashing  across  the 
bows  into  her  face,  and  as  once  the  blood  of  Cecile  de 
Savenaye  had  been  roused  by  the  call  of  the  wild  waters 
to  leave  safety  and  children  and  seek  her  doom,  so  now 
the  blood  she  had  transmitted  to  her  child,  leaped  to  the 


340  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

same  impulse  and  bore  her  onwards  with  irresistible 
force. 

"When,"  she  pursued,  "in  the  darkness  you  took  me 
in  your  arms  and  kissed  me  ;  what  did  the  touch  of  my 
lips  bring-  to  you?  My  lips,  not  Madeleine's.  .  .  .  Were 
you  not  happy  then  ?  Oh,  you  were,  do  not  deny  it,  I 
felt,  I  knew  our  souls  met  !  My  soul  and  yours,  not 
yours  and  Madeleine's.  And  I  knew  then  that  we  were 
made  for  each  other.  The  sea  and  the  wide  free  life  upon 
it  :  it  draws  me  as  it  draws  you  ;  it  was  that  drew  me  to 
you  before  I  had  ever  seen  you.  Listen,  listen.  Do  not 
go  to  Scarthey — you  have  your  beautiful  ship,  your  faith- 
ful crew — there  are  rich  and  wonderful  worlds,  warm  seas 
that  beckon.  You  can  have  life,  money,  adventure — and 
love,  love  if  you  will.  Take  it,  take  me  with  you  ! 
What  should  I  care  if  you  were  an  adventurer,  a  smug- 
gler, a  traitor  ?  What  does  anything  matter  if  we  are 
only  together?  Let  us  go,  we  have  but  one  life,  let  us 
go!" 

Bereft  of  the  power  of  movement  he  stood  before  her, 
and  the  sweat  that  had  gathered  upon  his  brow  ran  down 
his  face.  But,  as  the  meaning  of  her  proposition  was 
borne  in  upon  him,  a  shudder  of  fury  shook  him  from 
head  to  foot.  No  man  should  have  offered  dishonour  to 
Jack  Smith  and  not  have  been  struck  the  next  instant  at 
his  feet.      But  a  woman — a  woman,  and  Adrian's  wife  ! 

"  Lady  Landale,"  he  said,  after  a  silence  during  which 
the  beating  of  her  heart  turned  her  sick  and  cold,  and  all 
her  fever  heat  fell  from  her,  leaving  nothing  but  the 
knowledge  of  her  shame,  her  misery,  her  hopeless  love. 
"Lady  Landale,  let  me  bring  you  back  to  your  cabin — 
it  is  late." 

She  went  with  him  as  one  half-conscious.  At  the  door 
she  paused.  The  light  from  within  fell  upon  his  face, 
deeply  troubled  and  white,  but  upon  the  lips  and  brows, 

what  scorn  !     He  was  a  god  among  men How 

she  loved  him,  and  he  scorned  her  !  Poor  Murthering 
Moll! 

She  looked  up, 

"  Have  you  no  word  for  me  ?  "  she  cried  passionately. 

"  Only  this,  Lady  Landale  :     I  will  forget." 

Back  towards  the  distant   northern  light  the  schooner 


THE  LIGHT  AGAIN  341 

clove  her  valiant  way  in  spite  of  adverse  winds  and  high 
seas. 

The  return  journey  was  slower  than  the  outward,  and 
since  the  second  day  of  it  the  lady  kept  much  to  her  cabin, 
while  the  captain  would  pace  the  deck  till  far  into  the 
night,  with  unwonted  uneasiness.  To  him  the  white 
wings  of  his  Peregrine  were  bearing  him  all  too  slowly 
for  endurance,  while  to  the  stormy  woman's  heart  that 
beat  through  the  night  watches  in  passionate  echo  to  his 
restless  tread,  every  instant  that  passed  but  brought 
nearer  the  prospect  of  a  future  so  intolerable  that  she 
could  not  bring  herself  to  face  it, 

A  gloom  seemed  to  have  come  over  the  tight  little  craft, 
and  to  have  spread  even  to  the  crew,  who  missed  the 
ring  of  their  captain's  jolly  laugh  and  the  sound  of  his 
song. 

When,  within  a  day's  sail  of  the  goal,  the  planned  dis- 
guise was  finally  carried  out  upon  the  schooner's  fair  sides 
and  rigging,  her  beautiful  stretch  of  sail  curtailed,  and  her 
name  (final  disgrace),  superseded  by  the  unmeaning  title 
of  The  Pretty  Jane,  open  murmurs  broke  out  which  it  re- 
quired all  Curwen's  severity — and  if  the  old  martinet  did 
not  execute  the  summary  justice  he  had  threatened  he 
was  quite  equal  to  the  occasion  nevertheless — and  all 
Jack's  personal  influence  to  quell. 

The  dawn  of  the  next  day  crept  gloomily  upon  a  world 
of  rain  ;  with  long  faces  the  men  paddled  about  the  deck, 
doing  their  duty  in  silence  ;  Curwen's  old  countenance, 
set  into  grimmer  lines  than  ever,  looked  as  if  it  had  just 
been  detached  from  the  prow  of  some  vessel  after  hard 
experience  of  stress  and  storm.  The  spirits  of  the  captain 
alone  seemed  to  rise  in  proportion  as  they  drew  nearer 
land. 

"  The  moon  sets  at  half-past  eleven,"  he  said  to  Curwen, 
' '  but  we  need  not  fear  her  to-night.  By  half-past  twelve 
I  reckon  on  your  having  those  twenty-five  damned  casks 
safe  in  the  cave  you  took  them  from  ;  it  is  a  matter  of 
three  journeys.  And  then  the  nose  of  the  Pretty  Jane 
must  be  pointed  for  the  Orkneys.     All's  going  well," 

Night  had  fallen.  "  The  gaudy  bubbling  and  remorse- 
ful day"  had  "crept  into  the  bosom  of  the  sea."  From 
the  cross-trees  the  look-out  man  had  already  been  able  to 


342  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

distinguish  through  the  glass  the  faint  distant  glimmer  of 
Scarthey  beacon,  when  Captain  Jack  knocked  for  admit 
tance  at  Lady  Landale's  cabin   for  the  last  time,  as  he 
thought,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  In  the  course  of  an  hour,  Madam,"  he  said  in  a  grave 
tone,  "  I  hope  to  restore  you  to  land.  As  for  me,  1  shall 
have  again  to  hide  in  the  peel,  though  I  hope  it  will  not 
be  for  long.  My  fate — and  by  my  fate  I  mean  not  only 
my  safety,  but  my  honour,  which,  as  you  know,  is  now 
bound  up  in  the  safety  of  the  treasures — will  be  in  your 
hands.  For  I  must  wait  at  Scarthey  till  I  can  see  Adrian 
again,  and  upon  your  return  to  Pulwick  I  must  beg  you 
to  be  the  bearer  of  a  message  to  ask  him  to  come  and 
see  me." 

She  replied  in  a  voice  that  trembled  a  little  : 

"  I  will  not  fail  you." 

But  her  great  eyes,  dark  circled,  fixed  upon  him  with  a 
meek,  sorrowful  look,  spoke  dumbly  the  troublous  tale  of 
her  mind.  In  her  subdued  mood  the  likeness  to  Made- 
leine was  more  obtrusive  than  it  had  ever  yet  been.  He 
contemplated  her  with  melancholy,  and  drew  a  heavy 
sigh. 

Molly  groaned  in  the  depths  of  her  soul,  though  her  lips 
tight  set  betrayed  no  sound.  Oh,  miserable  chaos  of  the 
human  world,  that  such  pent  up  love  should  be  wasted — 
wasted;  that  they,  too,  young  and  strong  and  beautiful, 
alone  together,  so  near,  with  such  glorious  happiness 
within  their  reach,  should  yet  be  so  perversely  far  asun- 
der ! 

There  was  a  long  silence.  They  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes;  but  he  was  unseeing;  his  mind  was  far 
away,  dwelling  upon  the  memory  of  that  last  meeting 
with  his  love  under  the  fir  trees  of  Pulwick  only  ten  days 
ago,  but  now  as  irrevocably  far  as  things  seem  that  may 
never  again  be.  At  length,  she  made  a  movement  which 
brought  him  back  to  present  reality — a  movement  of  her 
wounded  arm  as  if  of  pain.  And  he  came  back  to  Lady 
Laiidale,  worn  with  the  fatigue  of  these  long  days  in  the 
cramped  discomfort  of  a  schooner  cabin,  thinned  by  pain 
and  fevered  thinkings,  shorn  of  all  that  daintiness  of  ap- 
pearance which  can  only  be  maintained  in  the  midst  of 
luxury,  and  yet,  by  the  light  of  the  flickering  lamp,  more 
triumphantly  beautiful  than  ever. 


THE  LIGHT  AGAIN  343 

His  thoughts  leaped  to  his  friend  with  a  pang  of  re- 
morse. 

"  You  are  suffering — you  are  ill,"  he  said.  "  Thus  do 
I  bring  you  back  to  him  who  last  saw  you  so  full  of 
strength But  you  will  recover  at  Pulwick. " 

"  Suffering,  ill  !  Ah,  my  God  !  "  As  if  suffocating,  she 
pressed  her  hand  upon  her  heart,  and  bowed  her  head  till 
it  rested  on  the  table.  And  then  he  heard  her  murmur  in 
a  weary  voice  : 

"  Recover  at  Pulwick  !  My  God,  my  God  !  The  air 
at  Pulwick  will  stifle  me,  I  think." 

He  waited  a  moment  in  silence  and  saw  that  she  was 
weeping.  Then  he  went  out  and  closed  the  door  behind 
him  with  gentle  hand. 

Nearly  all  the  lights  of  the  ship  were  now  extinguished, 
and  in  a  gloom  as  great  as  that  in  which  they  had  started 
upon  their  unsuccessful  venture,  the  Peregrine  and  her 
crew  returned  to  the  little  island  which  had  already  been 
so  fateful  to  them. 

Captain  Jack  had  taken  the  helm  himself,  and  Curwen 
stood  upon  his  right  hand  waiting  patiently  for  his  com- 
mands. For  an  hour  or  so  they  hung  off  the  shore.  The 
rain  fell  close  and  fine  around  them  ;  it  was  as  if  sea  and 
sky  were  merging  by  slow  imperceptible  degrees  into 
one.  The  beacon  light  looming,  halo  encircled,  through 
the  mist,  seemed,  like  a  monster  eye,  to  watch  with  un- 
moved contempt  the  restlessness  of  these  pigmies  in  the 
grand  solitude  of  the  night. 

Who  shall  say  with  what  conflict  of  soul  Molly,  in  her 
narrow  seclusion,  saw  the  light  of  Scarthey  grow  out  of 
the  dimness  till  its  rays  fell  across  the  darkened  cabin  and 
glimmered  on  her  wedding  ring  ? 

At  last  the  captain  drew  his  watch,  and  by  the  faint 
rays  upon  the  binnacle  saw  the  hour  had  come. 

"  Boat  loaded,  Curwen  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"This  hour,  sir." 

"Ready  to  cast?" 

"Right,  sir." 

"Now,  Curwen." 

Low,  from  man  to  man,   the  order   ran    inrough    the 

ship,   and    the    anchor    was    dropped,    almost    within  a 

-musket  shot  of  the  peel.      It  was  high  tide,  but  no  hand 

but  Captain  Jack's  would  have  dared  risk  the  vessel  so 


344  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

close.  She  swung  round,  ready  to  slip  at  a  moment's 
notice. 

He  left  the  helm  ;  and  in  the  wet  darkness  cannoned 
against  the  burly  figure  of  his  mate. 

"You,  Curwen  .?  Remember  we  have  not  a  moment 
to  lose.  Remain  here — as  soon  as  the  men  are  back  from 
the  last  run,  sheer  off." 

He  grasped  the  horny  hand. 

Curwen  made  an  inarticulate  noise  in  his  big  throat,  but 
the  grip  of  his  fingers  upon  his  master's  was  of  eloquence 
sufficient. 

"Let  some  one  call  the  lady." 

A  couple  of  men  ran  forward  with  dark  lanterns.  The 
rest  gathered  round. 

"Now,   my  lads,  brisk  and  silent  is  the  word." 

The  cabin  door  opened,  and  Molly  came  forth,  the  dark- 
ness hid  the  pallor  of  her  face,  but  it  could  not  hide  the 
faltering  of  her  steps.  Captain  Jack  sprang  forward  and 
gave  her  his  arm,  and  she  leant  upon  it  without  speaking, 
heavily.  For  one  moment  she  stopped  as  if  she  could  not 
tear  her  feet  from  the  beloved  planks,  but  Curwen  caught 
her  by  the  other  arm  ;  and  then  she  was  on  the  swinging 
ladder.     And  so  she  left  the  Peregrine. 

The  gig  was  almost  filled  with  barrels  ;  there  was  only 
room  for  the  four  oarsmen  selected,  besides  the  captain 
and  herself.  The  boat  shoved  off.  She  looked  back  and 
saw,  as  once  before,  the  great  wall  of  the  ship's  side  rise 
sheer  above  the  sea,  saw  the  triangle  of  light  again  slide 
down  to  lie  a  span  above  the  water-line.  With  what  a 
leaping  heart  she  had  set  forth,  that  black  night,  away 
from  the  hateful  lighthouse  beam  to  that  glimmer  of 
promise  and  mystery  !  And  now  !  She  felt  herself  grow 
sick  at  the  thought  of  that  home-coming  ;  at  the  vision 
of  the  close  warm  rooms,  of  her  husband's  melancholy 
eyes.  Yet,  as  she  sat,  the  sleeve  of  the  captain's  rough 
sailor  coat  touched  her  shoulder,  and  she  remembered  she 
was  still  with  him.      It  was  not  all  death  yet. 

In  less  than  three  minutes  they  touched  ground.  He 
jumped  into  the  water,  and  stretched  out  his  arms  for 
Molly,  She  rose  giddily,  and  his  embrace  folded  her 
round.  The  waves  rolled  in  with  surge  and  thud  and 
dashed  their  spray  upon  them ;  and  still  the  rain  fell  and 


THE  LIGHT  AGAIN  345 

beat  upon  her  head,  from  which  she  had  impatiently- 
pushed  her  hood.  But  her  spirit  had  no  heed  for  things 
of  the  body  this  night. 

Oh,  if  the  sea  would  open  sudden  deeps  before  them  ! 
if  even  the  quicksand  would  seize  them  in  its  murderous 
jaws,  what  ecstasy  the  hideous  lingering  death  might 
hold  for  her,  so  that  only  she  lay,  thus,  in  his  arms  to 
the  end  ! 

It  was  over  now  ;  his  arms  had  clasped  her  for  the  last 
time.  She  stood  alone  upon  the  dry  sand,  and  her  heart 
was  in  hell. 

He  was  speaking ;  asking  her  pardon  for  not  going  at 
once  with  her  to  see  her  into  the  keep,  but  he  dared  not 
leave  the  beach  till  his  cargo  was  landed,  and  he  must 
show  the  men  the  way  to  the  caves.  Would  she  forgive 
him,  would  she  go  with  him  ? 

Forgive  him  !  Go  with  him  !  She  almost  laughed 
aloud.  A  few  poor  moments  more  beside  him  ;  they 
would  be  as  the  drops  of  water  to  the  burning  tongue  of 
Dives. 

Yes,  she  would  go  with  him. 

One  by  one  the  precious  caskets  were  carried  between 
a  couple  of  men,  who  stumbled  in  the  darkness,  close  on 
their  captain's  heels.  And  the  lady  walked  beside  him 
and  stood  beside  him  without  a  word,  in  the  falling  rain. 
The  boat  went  backwards  and  forwards  twice  ;  before 
the  hour  had  run  out,  the  luckless  cargo  was  all  once 
more  landed,  and  the  captain  heard  with  infiniterelief  the 
last  oar-strokes  dwindling  away  in  the  distance,  and  saw 
the  lights  suddenly  disappear. 

"  You  have  been  very  patient,"  he  said  to  Molly  then, 
with  a  gentle  note  in  his  voice. 

But  she  did  not  answer.  Are  the  souls  of  the  damned 
patient? 

"  My  Lady  and  Mr.  the  Captain  !  My  God — my  God  ! 
so  wet — so  tired!  Enter — enter  in  the  name  of  heaven. 
It  is  good,  in  verity,  to  have  My  Lady  back,  but,  Mr, 
the  Captain,  is  it  well  for  him  to  be  here  ?  And  Madam 
is  ill  ?  She  goes  pale  and  red  by  turns.  Madam  has  the 
fever  for  sure  !  And  her  arm  is  hurt,  and  she  is  as  wet  as 
the  first  time  she  came  here.  Ah,  Lord  God,  what  are  we 
coming  to?     Fire  we  must  have.     I  shall  send  the  wife." 


346  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

"Ay,  do  so,  man,"  cried  Captain  Jack,  looking  with 
concern  at  Lady  Landale,  who  in  truth  seemed  scarcely 
able  to  stand,  and  whose  fluctuating-  colour  and  cracked 
fevered  lips  gave  painful  corroboration  to  Rene's  surmise, 
"  your  mistress  must  be  instantly  attended  to." 

But  Molly  arrested  the  servant  as  he  would  have  hur- 
ried past  upon  his  errand. 

"Your  master.^  "  she  said  in  a  dry  whisper,  "is  he  at 
Pulwick?" 

"His  honour!  My  faith,  I  must  be  but  half-awake 
yet.  Imbecile  that  I  am,  his  honour — where  is  he  ?  Is 
he  not  with  you  ?  No,  indeed,  he  is  not  at  Pulwick,  My 
Lady  ;  he  has  gone  to  St.  Malo  to  seek  you.  Nothing 
would  serve  him  but  that  he  must  go.  And  so  he  did  not 
reach  in  time  to  meet  you  ?  Ah,  the  poor  master — what 
anxiety  for  him  !  " 

Captain  Jack  glanced  in  dismay  at  his  friend's  wife, 
met  her  suddenly  illumined  gaze  and  turned  abruptly  on 
his  heel,  with  a  grinding  noise. 

"  See  to  your  mistress,"  he  said  harshly,  "  I  hear  your 
women  folk  are  roused  overhead ;  hurry  them,  and  when 
Lady  Landale  no  longer  requires  you,  I  must  speak  with 
you  on  an  urgent  business  of  my  own.  You  will  find  me 
in  my  old  room." 

"  Go  with  the  captain  at  once.  Rend,  since  he  wants 
you,"  interposed  Molly  quickly,  "here  comes  Moggie. 
She  will  take  care  of  me.  Leave  me,  leave  me.  I  feel 
strong  again.  Good-night,  Captain  Smith,  I  shall  see  you 
to-morrow  ? " 

There  was  a  wistful  query  in  her  voice  and  look. 

Captain  Smith  bowed  distantly  and  coldly,  and  hast- 
ened from  the  room,  accompanied  by  Rend,  while  open- 
mouthed  and  blinking,  rosy,  blowsy,  and  amazed,  Mrs. 
Potter  made  her  entry  on  the  scene  and  stared  at  her 
mistress  with  the  roundest  of  blue  eyes. 

"  My  good  Renny,"  said  the  captain,  "  I  have  no  time 
to  lose.  I  have  a  hard  hour's  work  to  do,  before  I  can 
even  think  of  talking.  I  want  your  help.  Your  light 
will  burn  all  safe  for  the  time,  will  it  not?  Hark  ye, 
man,  you  have  been  so  faithful  a  fellow  to  my  one  friend 
that  I  am  going  to  trust  to  you  matters  which  concern 
my  own  honour  and  my  own  life.     Ask  no  question,  but 


THE  LIGHT  AGAIN  347 

do  what  I  tell  you,  if  you  would  help  one  who  has  helped 
your  master  long  ago  ;  one  whom  your  master  would 
wish  you  to  help." 

Thus  adjured,  Rene  repressed  his  growing  astonish 
ment  at  the  incomprehensible  development  of  events. 
And  having,  under  direction,  provided  the  sailor  with  a 
lantern,  and  himself  with  a  wide  tarpaulin  and  sundry 
carpenter's  tools,  he  followed  his  leader  readily  enough 
through  the  ruinous  passages,  half  choked  up  with  sand, 
which  led  from  the  interior  of  the  ruins  to  one  of  the  sea 
caves. 

Before  reaching  the  open-mouthed  rocky  chamber,  the 
captain  obscured  the  light,  and  Ren^  promptly  barked  his 
shins  against  a  barrel. 

^'  Sacj-ebleu,"  he  cried,  feeling  with  quick  hands  the 
nature  of  the  obstruction,  "  more  kegs  ?  " 

"The  same,  my  friend!  Now  hang  that  tarpaulin 
against  the  mouth  of  the  cave  and  be  sure  it  is  close  ; 
then  we  may  again  have  some  light  upon  the  matter. 
What  we  must  do  will  not  bear  interference,  and  moving 
glimmers  on  a  dark  night  have  told  tales  before  this." 

As  soon  as  the  beach  entrance  was  made  secure,  the 
captain  uncovered  his  lantern  ;  and  as  the  double  row 
of  kegs  stood  revealed,  his  eyes  rapidly  scanned  their 
number.     Yes,  they  were  all  there  :  five  and  twenty. 

"Now,  to  work,  man  !  We  have  to  crack  every  one 
of  these  nuts,  and  take  the  kernels  out." 

Even  as  he  spoke,  he  turned  the  nearest  cask  on  end, 
with  a  blow  of  chisel  and  mallet  stove  in  the  head  and 
began  dragging  out  quantities  of  loose  tow.  In  the 
centre  of  the  barrel,  secured  in  position  on  to  a  stout 
middle  batten,  was  a  bag  of  sail-cloth  closely  bound 
with  cord.  This  he  lifted  with  an  effort,  for  it  was 
over  a  hundred-weight,  and  flung  upon  the  sand  in  a 
corner. 

"That's  the  kernel  you  see,"  he  said  to  Rend,  who  had 
watched  the  operation  with  keen  interest.  "  And  when 
we  have  shelled  them  all  I  will  show  you  where  to  put 
them  in  safety.  Now  carry  on — the  quicker  the  better. 
The  sooner  we  have  it  all  upstairs,  the  freer  I  shall 
breathe." 

Without  another  word,  entering  into  the  spirit  of  haste 
which  seemed  to  fill  his  companion,  and  nobly  control- 


348  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

ling  his  seething  curiosity,  Rend  set  to  work  on  his  side, 
with  his  usual  dexterousness. 

Half  an  hour  of  speechless  destructive  labour  completed 
the  first  part  of  the  task.  Then  the  two  men  carried  the 
weighty  bags  into  the  room  which  had  been  Captain 
Jack's  in  the  keep.  And  when  they  had  travelled  to  and 
fro  a  dozen  times  with  each  heavy  load,  and  the  whole 
treasure  was  at  length  accumulated  upstairs,  Rend,  with 
fresh  surprise  and  admiration,  saw  the  captain  lift  the 
hearthstone  and  disclose  a  recess  in  the  heavy  masonry — 
presumably  a  flue,  in  the  living  days  of  Scarthey  peel 
— which,  although  much  blocked  with  stony  rubbish, 
had  been  evidently  improved  by  the  last  lodger  during  his 
period  of  solitary  residence  into  a  convenient  and  very 
secure  hiding-place. 

Here  was  the  precious  pyramid  now  heaped  up  ;  the 
stone  was  returned  to  its  place,  and  the  two  stood  in  front 
of  each  other  mopping  their  faces. 

"Thank  goodness,  it  is  done,"  said  Jack  Smith,  "  And 
thank  you  too,  Renny.  To-morrow,  break  up  these  casks 
and  add  the  staves  to  your  firewood  stack  ;  then  nobody 
but  you,  in  this  part  of  the  world,  need  be  any  the  wiser 
about  our  night's  work. — A  smart  piece  of  running,  eh  .'' — 
Phew,  I  am  tired !  Bring  me  some  food,  and  some 
brandy,  like  a  good  fellow.  Then  you  can  back  to  your 
pillow  and  flatter  yourself  that  you  have  helped  Jack 
Smith  out  of  a  famous  quandary." 

Rene  grinned  and  rushed  to  execute  the  order.  He  had 
less  desire  for  his  pillow  than  for  the  gratification  of  his 
hyper-excited  curiosity. 

But  although  pressed  to  quaff  one  cup  of  good  fellow- 
ship and  yet  another,  he  was  not  destined  to  get  his  infor- 
mation, that  night,  from  the  captain,  who  had  much  ado 
to  strangle  his  yawns  sufficiently  to  swallow  a  mouthful 
or  two  of  food. 

"  No  one  must  know,  Renny,"  was  all  he  said,  at  last, 
between  two  gapes,  kicking  the  hearthstone  significantly, 
and  stretching  his  arms,  "  not  even  the  wife."  Then  he 
flung  himself  all  dressed  upon  his  bed. 

"And  my  faith,"  said  Rend,  when  he  sought  his  wife  a 
moment  later,  "he  was  fast  asleep  before  I  had  closed  the 
door." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
THE  END   OF  THE  THREAD 

Madeleine  had  appeared  greatly  distressed  at  the 
thought  that,  through  her,  her  sister  was  now  in  so  doubtful 
and  precarious  a  situation.  It  was  part  of  her  punish- 
ment, she  told  herself  for  her  sins  of  deceit  and  unmaiden- 
liness  in  encouraging  and  meeting  a  clandestine  lover. 

She  had  gone  through  some  very  bitter  hours  since  her 
tryst  at  the  ruins.  The  process  of  cutting  off  a  malignant 
growth  that  has  become  part  of  oneself  is  none  the  less 
painful  because  the  conviction  is  clear  that  it  is  for  one's 
health  to  do  so,  and  the  will  is  firm  not  to  falter.  Not 
the  less  is  the  flesh  mangled,  do  nerves  throb,  and  veins 
bleed.  But  Madeleine  was  determined  that  nobody 
should  even  guess  her  sufferings. 

Rupert  had  counted  upon  Sophia's  old  habit  of  obedi- 
ence to  him,  and  upon  her  superstitious  terrors  not  to  be- 
tray to  the  young  girl  the  part  he  had  played  in  the  un- 
masking of  her  lover  ;  but  he  had  an  unexpected,  and 
even  more  powerful  ally  in  Madeleine's  own  pride.  When 
Miss  Sophia  had  tremblingly  endeavoured  to  falter  out  a 
few  words  of  sympathy  and  sorrow,  upon  the  distressing 
subject,  Madeleine  quickly  interrupted  her. 

"  Never  speak  even  his  name  again,  Sophia  ;  all  that  is 
finished  for  me." 

There  was  such  a  cold  finality  in  her  voice,  that  the 
poor  confidant's  expansiveness  withered  vip  within  her 
beyond  even  the  hope  of  blossoming  again. 

When  Rupert  heard  of  Captain  Jack's  latest  doings, 
and  especially  of  his  sister-in-law's  disappearance,  he 
thought  that  the  fates  were  propitious  indeed.  In  his 
wildest  schemes  he  could  not  have  planned  anything  that 
would  have  suited  his  game  more  perfectly. 

Though  he  thought  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  pull 
a  face   of  desperate  length    whenever  the    subject   was 

349 


350  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

touched,  in  his  innermost  soul  he  had  hardly  ever  en- 
joyed so  delightful  a  joke  as  this  denouement  to  his 
brother's  marriage  and  to  his  cousin's  engagement.  And, 
strange  to  say,  though  he  would  most  gravely  protest 
against  any  interpretation  of  his  kinswoman's  disappear- 
ance save  the  one  which  must  most  redound  to  her  credit, 
the  story,  started  by  the  gossips  in  the  village  upon  the 
return  of  the  revenue  men,  that  Lady  Landale  had  bolted 
with  the  handsome  smuggler,  grew  and  spread  apace  all 
over  the  county,  more  especially  from  such  houses  as 
Rupert  was  wont  to  visit. 

That  all  his  hints  and  innuendoes  should  fail,  appar- 
ently, to  make  Madeleine  put  upon  the  case  the  interpre- 
tation he  would  have  liked,  was  at  once  a  matter  of  secret 
sneering  and  of  admiration  to  his  curiously  complicated 
mind. 

The  days  went  by,  to  all  appearance  placidly  enough, 
for  the  trio  at  Pulwick.  Madeleine  shunned  none  of  the 
usages  of  life  in  common,  worked  and  talked  with  Sophia 
of  a  morning,  rode  or  walked  out  with  Rupert  of  an 
afternoon  ;  and  passed  the  evening  at  her  embroidery 
frame  meeting  his  efforts  to  entertain  her  as  amiably  as 
before. 

Rupert  thought  he  knew  enough  of  the  human  heart, 
and  more  especially  the  feminine,  to  draw  satisfactory 
conclusions  from  this  behaviour.  For  a  girl  to  bear  no 
malice  to  the  man  who  had  taken  it  upon  himself  to 
demonstrate  to  her  the  unworthiness  of  her  lover,  argued, 
to  his  mind,  that  her  affections  could  not  have  been  very 
deeply  engaged  in  that  quarter.  It  was  clear  that  she  felt 
gratitude  for  a  timely  rescue.  Nay,  might  he  not  go 
further,  and  lay  the  flattering  unction  to  his  soul  that  she 
would  not  be  unwilling  to  transfer  these  same  blighted 
feelings  to  a  more  suitable  recipient  ? 

A  slight  incident  which  took  place  a  few  nights  later, 
tended  still  more  to  increase  the  kindness  of  Madeleine's 
manner  to  him  upon  the  next  day  ;  but  this  was  for  a 
reason  that  he  little  suspected. 

It  had  been  an  anniversary  with  Sophia — none  less  in- 
deed than  that  of  the  lamented  Rector's  demise.  When 
her  young  cousin  had  retired  to  her  room,  the  desire  to 
pursue  her  thither  with  a  packet  of  old  letters,  and  \3ther 
treasures  exhumed  from  the  depths  of  her  cupboards,  had 


THE  END  OF  THE  THREAD  351 

proved  too  strong  for  a  soul  burning  for  congenial  sympa- 
thy ;  and  Sophia  had  spent  a  couple  of  very  delightful  hours 
pouring  forth  reminiscences  and  lamentations  into  the 
bosom  of  one  who,  as  she  said,  she  knew  could  under- 
stand her. 

Madeleine  a  little  wearied,  stifling  a  sigh  or  a  yawn  as 
the  minutes  ticked  by,  was  too  gentle,  too  kind-hearted 
to  repel  the  faithful,  if  loquacious  mourner  ;  so  she  had 
sat  and  listened,  which  was  all  that  Sophia  required. 

Upon  the  stroke  of  twelve,  Miss  Landale  rose  at  length, 
collected  her  relics,  and  mopping  her  swollen  eyes,  em- 
braced her  cousin,  and  bade  her  good-night  with  much 
effusion,  while  with  cordial  alacrity  the  latter  conducted 
her  to  the  door. 

But  here  Sophia  paused.  Holding  the  flatsilver  candle- 
stick with  one  hand,  with  the  other  clasping  to  her  bosom 
her  bundle  of  superannuated  love  letters,  she  glanced  out 
into  the  long  black  chasm  of  corridor  with  a  shudder, 
and  vowed  she  had  not  the  courage  to  traverse  it  alone 
at  such  an  hour.  She  cast  as  she  spoke  such  a  meaning 
glance  at  Madeleine's  great  bed,  that,  trembling  lest  her 
next  words  should  be  a  proposal  to  share  it  for  the  night, 
the  young  girl  hurriedly  volunteered  to  re-conduct  her  to 
her  own  apartment. 

Half  way  down  the  passage  they  had  to  pass  the  door 
of  the  picture  gallery,  which  was  ajar,  disclosing  light 
within.  At  the  sight  of  Rupert  standing  with  his  back  to 
them,  looking  fixedly  at  the  picture  upon  the  opposite 
wall,  Sophia  promptly  thought  better  of  the  scream  she 
was  preparing,  and  seized  her  cousin  by  the  arm. 

"Come  away,  come  away,"  she  whispered,  "he  will 
be  much  displeased  if  he  sees  us." 

Madeleine  allowed  herself  to  be  pulled  onward,  but 
remembering  Molly's  previous  encounter  upon  the  same 
spot,  was  curious  enough  to  demand  an  explanation  of 
Rupert's  nocturnal  rambles  when  they  had  reached  the 
haven  of  Sophia's  bedroom.  It  was  very  simple,  but  it 
struck  her  as  exceedingly  pathetic  and  confirmed  her  in 
her  opinion  of  the  unreasonableness  of  her  sister's  dislike 
to  Rupert. 

He  was  gazing  at  his  dead  wife's  picture.  He  could 
not  bear,  Sophia  said,  for  any  one  to  find  him  there  ;  could 
not  bear  the  smallest  allusion  to  his  grief,  but  at  night,  as 


352  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

she  had  herself  discovered  quite  by  accident,    he  would 
often  spend  long  spells  as  they  had  just  seen  him. 

There  was  something-  in  Madeleine's  own  nature,  a 
susceptible  proud  reserve  which  made  this  trait  in  her 
cousm's  character  thoroughly  congenial ;  moreover,  what 
woman  is  not  drawn  with  pity  towards  the  man  who  can 
so  mourn  a  woman. 

She  met  him  therefore,  the  next  day,  with  a  softness, 
almost  a  tenderness,  of  look  and  smile  which  roused  his 
highest  hopes.  And  when  he  proposed,  after  breakfast, 
that  they  should  profit  by  the  mild  weather  to  stroll  in  the 
garden  while  Sophia  was  busy  in  the  house,  she  willingly 
consented. 

Up  the  gravel  paths,  between  the  gooseberry  bushes,  to 
the  violet  beds  they  went.  It  was  one  of  thoSe  balmy 
days  that  come  sometimes  in  earl)''  spring  and  encourage 
all  sorts  of  false  hopes  in  the  hearts  of  men  and  vegetables. 
"A  growing  day,"  the  farmers  call  them  ;  indeed,  at  such 
times  you  may  almost  hear  the  swelling  and  the  bursting 
of  the  buds,  the  rising  of  the  sap,  the  throbbing  and 
pushing  of  the  young  green  life  all  around. 

Madeleine  grew  hot  with  the  weight  of  her  fur  tippet, 
the  pale  face  under  the  plumy  hat  took  an  unusual  pink 
bloom  ;  her  eyes  shone  with  a  moist  radiance.  Rupert, 
glancing  up  at  her,  as,  bent  upon  one  knee,  he  sought  for 
stray  violets  amid  the  thick  green  leaves,  thought  it  was 
thus  a  maiden  looked  who  waited  to  be  won  ;  and  though 
all  of  true  love  that  he  could  ever  give  to  woman  lay 
buried  with  his  little  bride,  he  felt  his  pulses  quicken  with 
a  certain  aesthetic  pleasure  in  the  situation.  Presently  he 
rose,  and,  after  arranging  his  bunch  of  purple  sweetness 
into  dainty  form,  offered  it  silently  to  his  companion. 

She  took  it,  smiling,  and  carried  it  mechanically  to  her 
face. 

Oh,  the  scent  of  the  violets  !  Upon  the  most  delicate 
yet  mighty  pinions  she  was  carried  back,  despite  all  her 
proud  resolves  to  that  golden  hour,  only  five  days  ago, 
when  she  lay  upon  her  lover's  broad  breast,  and  heard 
the  beating  of  his  heart  beneath  her  ear. 

Again  she  felt  his  arm  around  her,  so  strong,  yet  so 
gentle  ;  saw  his  handsome  face  bent  towards  her,  closer — 
ever  closer — felt  again  the  tide  of  joy  that  coursed  through 
her  veins  in  the  expectation  of  his  kiss. 


THE  END  OF  THE  THREAD  353 

No,  no,  she  must  not — she  would  not  yield  to  this 
degrading  folly.  If  it  were  not  yet  dead,  then  she  must 
kill  it. 

She  had  first  grown  pale,  but  the  next  moment  a  deep 
crimson  flooded  her  face.  She  turned  her  head  away,  and 
Rupert  saw  her  tremble  as  she  dropped  the  hand  that  held 
the  flowers  close  clenched  by  her  side.  He  formed  his 
own  opinion  of  what  was  passing  within  her,  and  it  made 
even  his  cold  blood  course  hotly  in  his  veins. 

"Madeleine,"  he  said,  with  low  rapid  utterance;  "I 
am  not  mistaken,  I  trust,  in  thinking  you  look  on  me  as 
a  good  friend  ?  " 

"Indeed,  yes  ;  "  answered  the  girl,  with  an  effort,  turn- 
ing her  tremulous  face  towards  him;  "a  good  friend 
indeed. '' 

Had  he  not  been  so  five  days  ago  ?  Aye,  most  truly, 
and  she  would  have  it  so,  in  spite  of  the  hungry  voice 
within  her  which  had  awaked  and  cried  out  against  the 
knowledge  that  had  brought  such  misery. 

He  saw  her  set  her  little  teeth  and  toss  her  head,  and 
knew  she  was  thinking  of  the  adventurer  who  had  dared 
aspire  to  her.     And  he  gained  warmer  courage  still, 

"Nothing  more  than  a  friend,  sweet?  " 

"A  kind  cousin  ;  almost  a  brother." 

"No,  no;  not  a  brother,  Madeleine.  Nay,  hear  me," 
taking  her  hands  and  looking  into  her  uncomprehending 
eyes,  "I  would  not  be  a  brother,  but  something  closer, 
dearer.  We  are  both  alone  in  the  world,  more  or  less. 
Whom  have  you  but  a  mad-cap  sister,  a  poor  dreamer  of 
a  brother-in-law,  an  octogenarian  aunt,  to  look  to  .''  I  have 
no  one,  no  one  to  whom  my  coming  or  my  going,  my 
living  or  my  dying  makes  one  pulse  beat  of  difference — 
except  poor  Sophia.  Let  us  join  our  loneliness  and  make 
of  it  a  beautiful  and  happy  home.  Madeleine,  I  have 
learned  to  love  you  deeply  !  " 

His  eyes  glowed  between  their  narrowing  eyelids,  his 
voice  rang  changes  upon  chords  of  most  exquisite  tender- 
ness ;  his  whole  manner  was  charged  with  a  courtly  rev- 
erence mingled  with  the  subtlest  hint  of  passion.  Rupert 
as  a  lover  had  not  a  flaw  in  him. 

Yet  fear,  suspicion,  disgust  chased  each  other  in  Made- 
leine's mind  in  quick  succession.  What  did  he  mean  ? 
How  could  it  be  that  he  loved  her  ?     Oh  !  if  /his  had  been 

23 


354  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

his  purpose,  what  motive  was  prompting  him  when  he 
divided  her  from  her  deceiving  lover  ?  Was  no  one  true 
then  ?  Was  this  the  inconsolable  widower  whose  grief 
she  had  been  so  sympathetically  considering  all  the  morn- 
ing; for  whose  disinterested  anxiety  and  solicitude  on  her 
behalf  her  sore  heart  had  forced  itself  to  render  gratitude  ? 
Oh  !  how  terrible  it  all  was  ....    what  a  hateful  world  ! 

"Well,  Madeleine?"  he  pressed  forward  and  slid  his 
arm  around  her. 

All  her  powers  of  thought  and  action  restored  by  the 
deed,  she  disengaged  herself  with  a  movement  of  uncon- 
scious repulsion. 

"Cousin  Rupert,  I  am  sure  you  mean  kindly  by  me, 
but  it  is  quite  impossible — I  shall  never  marry." 

He  drew  back,  as  nonplussed  as  if  she  had  struck  him 
in  the  face. 

"  Pshaw,  my  dear  Madeleine." 

"Please,  Cousin  Rupert,  no  more." 

"My  dear  girl,  I  have  been  precipitate." 

"Nothing can  make  any  difference.  That  I  could  never 
marry  you,  so  much  you  must  believe  ;  that  I  shall  never 
marry  at  all  you  are  free  to  believe  or  not,  as  you  please. 
I  am  sorry  you  should  have  spoken." 

"Still  hankering  after  that  beggarly  scoundrel?"  mut- 
tered Rupert,  a  sneer  uncovering  his  teeth  betrayed  hide- 
ously the  ungenerous  soul  within.  He  was  too  deeply 
mortified,  too  shaken  by  this  utter  shattering  of  his  last 
ambitions  to  be  able  to  grasp  his  usual  self-control. 

Madeleine  gave  him  one  proud  glance,  turned  abruptly 
away,  and  walked  into  the  house. 

She  went  steadily  up  to  her  room,  and,  once  there,  with- 
out hesitation  proceeded  to  unlock  a  drawer  in  her  writing- 
table  and  draw  from  it  a  little  ribbon-tied  parcel  of  letters 
— Jack's  letters. 

Her  heart  had  failed  her,  womanlike,  before  the  little 
sacrifice  when  she  had  unshrinkingly  accomplished  the 
larger  one.  Now,  however,  with  determined  hand,  she 
threw  the  letters  into  the  reddest  cavern  of  her  wood-fire 
and  with  hard  dry  eyes  watched  them  burn.  When  the 
last  scrap  had  writhed  and  fluttered  and  flamed  into  grey 
ash,  she  turned  to  her  altar,  and,  extending  her  arm, 
called  out  aloud  : 

"  I  have  done  with  it  all  for  ever " 


THE  END  OF  THE  THREAD  355 

And  the  next  instant  flinging  herself  upon  her  bed,  she 
drew  her  brown  ringlets  before  her  face,  and  under  this 
veil  wept  for  her  broken  youth  and  her  broken  heart,  and 
the  hard  cold  life  before  her. 

There  is  a  kind  of  love  a  man  can  give  to  woman  but 
once  in  his  lifetime  :  the  love  of  the  man  in  the  first  flush 
of  manhood  for  the  woman  he  has  chosen  to  be  his  mate, 
untransferable  and  never  to  be  forgotten  :  love  of  passion 
so  exquisite,  of  devotion  so  pure,  born  of  the  youth  of 
the  heart  and  belonging  to  an  existence  and  personality 
lost  for  ever.  A  man  may  wed  again,  and  (some  say) 
love  again,  but  between  the  boards  of  the  coffin  of  his 
first  wife — if  he  has  loved  her — lie  secrets  of  tenderness, 
and  sweetness,  and  delight,  which,  like  the  spring  flowers, 
may  not  visit  the  later  year. 

But,  notwithstanding  this,  a  second  wooing  may  have 
a  charm  and  an  interest  of  its  own,  even  the  wooing 
which  is  to  precede  a  marriage  of  convenience. 

So  Rupert'  found.  The  thought  of  an  alliance  with 
Madeleine  de  Savenaye  was  not  only  engrossing  from 
the  sense  of  its  own  intrinsic  advantages,  but  had  become 
the  actual  foundation-stone  of  all  his  new  schemes  of 
ambition. 

Nay,  more  :  such  admiration  and  desire  as  he  could 
still  feel  for  woman,  he  had  gradually  come  to  centre 
upon  his  fair  and  graceful  cousin,  who  added  to  her  per- 
sonal attractions  the  other  indispensable  attributes,  blood, 
breeding  and  fortune.  Mr.  Landale  was  as  essentially 
refined  and  fastidious  in  his  judgment  as  he  was  un- 
measured in  his  ambition. 

His  error  of  precipitancy  had  been  pardonable  enough  ; 
and  mere  self-reproach  for  an  ill-considered  manoeuvre 
would  not  have  sufficed  to  plunge  him  into  such  a  depth 
of  bitter  and  angry  despondency  as  that  in  which  he  now 
found  himself.  But  the  rebuff  had  been  too  uncompro- 
mising to  leave  him  a  single  hope.  He  was  too  shrewd 
not  to  see  that  here  was  no  pretty  feminine  nay,  precursor 
of  the  yielding  yea,  not  to  realise  that  Madeleine  had 
meant  what  she  said  and  would  abide  by  it.  And,  under 
the  sting  of  the  moment  betrayed  into  a  degradingly  ill- 
mannered  outburst,  he  had  shown  that  he  measured  the 
full  bearings  of  the  position. 


356  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

So,  the  wind  still  sat  in  that  quarter  ! 

Failing-  the  mysterious  smuggler,  it  was  to  be  nobody 
with  the  Savenaye  heiress — and  least  of  all  Rupert  Lan- 
dale. 

And  this,  though  the  scoundrel  had  been  thoroughly 
shown  up  ;  though  he  had  started  upon  his  illegal  venture 
and  was  gone,  never  to  return  if  he  valued  his  neck,  after 
murdering  four  officers  of  the  crown  and  sinking  a  king's 
vessel  ;  though  he  had  carried  away  with  him  (ah  !  there 
was  consolation  in  that  excellent  jest  which  had  so  far 
developed  into  Sir  Adrian's  wild  goose  chase  to  France 
and  might  still  hold  some  delicate  denouement),  had  carrietl 
with  him  no  less  a  person  than  Lady  Landale  herself 
(the  fellow  had  good  taste,  and  either  of  the  sisters  was 
a  dainty  morsel),  he  still  left  the  baneful  trail  of  his  in- 
fluence behind  him  upon  the  girl  he  had  deluded  and 
beguiled  ! 

Rupert  Landale,  who,  for  motives  of  his  own  had 
pleased  himself  by  hunting  down  Madeleine's  lover,  had 
felt,  in  the  keenness  of  his  blood-hound  work,  something 
of  the  blood-hound  instinct  of  destruction  and  ferocity 
spring  up  within  him  before  he  had  even  set  eyes  on  his 
quarry.  And  the  day  they  had  stood  face  to  face  this 
instinctive  hatred  had  been  intensified  by  some  singular 
natural  antagonism.  Added  to  this  there  was  now  per- 
sonal injury  and  the  prey  was  out  of  reach.  Impotence 
for  revenge  burned  into  the  soul  of  him  like  a  corrosive 
poison.  Oh,  let  him  but  come  within  his  grip  again  and 
he  should  not  escape  so  easily. 

Sits  the  wind  still  in  that  quarter? 

The  burthen  droned  in  his  head,  angry  conclusion  to 
each  long  spell  of  inconclusive  thought,  as  he  still  paced 
the  garden,  till  the  noon  hour  began  to  wane.  And  it 
was  in  this  mood,  that,  at  length,  returning  to  his  study, 
he  crossed  in  one  of  the  back  passages  a  young  woman 
enveloped  in  a  brilliant  scarlet  and  black  shawl,  who 
started  in  evident  dismay  on  being  confronted  with 
him. 

Rupert  knew  by  sight  and  name  every  wench  of  kitchen 
and  laundry,  as  well  as  every  one  of  the  buxom  lasses  or 
dames  whom  business  brought  periodically  to  the  great 
hall.  That  this  person  was  neither  of  the  household  nor 
one  of  the  usual  back-door  visitors,   he  would  have  seen 


THE  END  OF  THE  THREAD  357 

at  a  glance,  even  had  not  her  own  embarrassment  drawn 
his  closer  attention.  He  looked  keenly  and  recognised 
the  gatekeeper's  daughter  Moggie. 

Having  married  Sir  Adrian's  servant  and  withdrawn  to 
take  up  her  abode  in  the  camp  of  the  enemy,  so  to  speak, 
she  was  not  one  whom  Mr.  Landale  would  have  regarded 
with  favour  in  any  case  ;  but  now,  concentrating  his 
thoughts  from  their  aimless  whirl  of  dissatisfaction  upon 
the  present  encounter,  he  was  struck  by  the  woman's 
manner. 

Yes,  she  was  most  undoubtedly  frightened.  He  ex- 
amined her  with  a  malevolent  eye  which  still  discoun- 
tenanced her.  And,  though  he  made  no  inquiry,  she 
forthwith  stammered  out :  "I — I  came,  sir,  to  see  if  there 
be  news  of  her  Ladyship  ....  or  of  Sir  Adrian,  sir — 
Renny  can't  leave  the  island,  you  know,  and  he  be  down- 
right anxious." 

"Well,  my  good  woman,  calm  yourself.  Nothing 
wrong  ;  nothing  to  hide  in  this  very  laudable  anxiety  of 
you  and  your  good  man  !  No,  we  have  no  news  yet — 
that  is  quickly  told,  Mrs.  Potter." 

He  kept  her  for  a  moment  quailing  and  scared  under 
his  cruel  gaze,  then  went  on  his  way,  working  upon  the 
new  problems  she  had  brought  him  to  solve.  No  matter 
was  too  small  for  Rupert's  mind,  he  knew  how  inextricably 
the  most  minute  and  apparently  insignificant  may  be 
connected  with  the  most  important  events  of  life. 

The  woman  was  singularly  anxious  to  explain,  reflected 
he,  pausing  at  his  chamber  door,  singularly  ready  with 
her  explanation — too  ready.  She  must  have  lied.  No 
doubt  she  lied.  Liar  was  written  upon  every  line  of  the 
terrified  face  of  her.  What  was  that  infernal  little  French 
husband  of  hers  hatching  now.?  He  had  been  in  the 
Smith  plot,  of  course.  Ah,  curse  that  smuggling  fellow  : 
he  cropped  up  still  on  every  side  !  Pray  the  fates  he 
would  crop  up  once  too  often  for  his  own  safety  yet ; 
who  knew  ! 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Potter,  the  innocent  news-gatherer, 
must  not  be  allowed  to  roam  unwatched  at  her  own 
sweet  will  about  the  place.  Hark !  what  clumping, 
creaking,  steps  !  These  could  only  be  produced  by  Rent's 
fairy-footed  spouse  :  the  house  servants  had  been  too 
well  drilled  by  his  irritable  ear  to  venture  in  such  shoe 


358  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

leather  within  its  range.      He  closed  his  door,  and  gently- 
walked  back  along  the  corridor. 

As  he  passed  Molly's  apartment,  he  could  hear  the 
creaking  of  a  wardrobe  door  ;  and,  a  startling  surmise 
springing  into  his  brain,  he  quietly  slipped  into  an  oppo- 
site room  and  waited,  leaving  the  door  slightly  ajar. 

As  he  expected,  a  few  minutes  later,  Moggie  reap- 
peared loaded  with  a  bulky  parcel,  glancing  anxiously 
right  and  left.  She  tiptoed  by  him  ;  but,  after  a  few  steps, 
suddenly  turning  her  head  once  more,  met  his  eyes 
grimly  fixed  upon  her  through  the  narrow  aperture.  With 
a  faint  squeal  she  paddled  off  as  though  a  fiend  were  at 
her  heels. 

"Something  more  than  anxiety  for  news  there,  Mrs. 
Potter,"  said  Mr.  Landale,  apostrophising  the  retreating 
figure  with  a  malignant,  inward  laugh  !  Then,  when 
the  last  echo  of  her  stout  boots  had  faded  away,  he  en- 
tered his  sister-in-law's  room,  looked  around  and  medi- 
tatively began  to  open  various  presses  and  drawers. 
"  You  visited  this  one  at  any  rate,  my  girl."  thought  he, 
as  he  recognised  the  special  sound  of  the  hinges.  "  And. 
for  a  lady's  maid,  you  have  left  it  in  singular  disorder. 
As  for  this,"  pulling  open  a  linen  drawer  half-emptied, 
and  showing  dainty  feminine  apparel,  beribboned  and 
belaced,  in  the  most  utter  disorder — "why,  fie  on  you, 
Mrs.  Potter !  Is  this  the  way  to  treat  these  pretty 
things  ? " 

He  had  seen  enough.  He  paused  a  moment  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  with  his  nails  to  his  lips,  smiling  to 
himself. 

"Ah,  Mrs.  Potter,  I  fancy  you  might  have  given  us  a 
little  news,  yourself  !  Most  unkind  of  my  Lady  Landale 
to  prefer  to  keep  us  in  this  unnatural  anxiety — most  un- 
kind indeed  !  She  must  have  singularly  good  reasons  for 
so  doing.  .  .  .  Captain  Smith,  my  friend,  Mr.  Cochrane, 
or  whatever  may  be  your  name,  we  have  an  account  to 
settle.  And  there  is  that  fool  of  an  Adrian  scurrying  over 
the  seas  in  search  of  his  runaway  wife!  By  George  1 
my  hand  is  not  played  out  yet !  " 

Slowly  he  repaired  to  his  study.  There  he  sat  down 
and  wrote,  without  any  further  reflection,  an  urgent  letter 
to  the  chief  officer  of  the  newly  established  Preventive 
Service  Station.     Then  he  rang  the  bell. 


THE  END  OF  THE  THREAD  359 

"  One  of  the  grooms  will  ride  at  once  to  Lancaster  with 
this,"  he  said  to  the  servant,  looking  at  the  missive  in  his 
hand.  But  instead  of  delivering  it  he  paused  :  a  new 
idea  had  occurred.  How  many  of  these  servants  might 
not  be  leagued  in  favour  of  that  interloper,  bribed,  or  know- 
ing him,  perhaps,  to  have  been  a  friend  of  Sir  Adrian,  or 
yet  again  out  of  sheer  spite  to  himself  .-*  No  ;  he  would 
leave  no  loop-hole  for  treachery  now. 

"Send  the  groom  to  me  as  soon  as  he  is  ready, "he  con- 
tinued, and  when  the  footman  had  withdrawn,  enclosed 
the  letter,  with  its  tale-telling  superscription,  in  another 
directed  to  a  local  firm  of  attorneys,  with  a  covering  note 
instructing  them  to  see  that  the  communication,  on  His 
Majesty's  Service,  should  reach  the  proper  hands  without 
delay. 

When  the  messenger  had  set  forth,  Mr.  Landale,  on 
his  side,  had  his  horse  saddled  and  sallied  out  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Scarthey  sands. 

As  from  the  top  of  the  bluff  he  took  a  survey  of  the 
great  bay,  a  couple  of  figures  crossing  the  strand  in  the 
distance  arrested  his  attention  ;  he  reined  in  his  horse 
behind  a  clump  of  bushes  and  watched. 

"  So  ho  !  Mrs.  Potter,  your  careful  husband  could  not 
leave  the  island.-*"  muttered  he,  as  he  marked  the  unmis- 
takable squat  figure  of  the  one,  a  man  carrying  a  burden 
upon  his  shoulder,  whilst,  enveloping  the  woman  who 
walked  briskly  by  his  side,  flared  the  brilliant-hued  shawl 
of  Moggie.  "  That  lie  alone  would  have  been  sufficient 
to  arouse  suspicion.  Hallo,  what  is  the  damned  crapaud 
up  to  ?  " 

The  question  was  suggested  by  the  man's  movements, 
as,  after  returning  the  parcel  to  his  consort  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  now  bare  causeway,  he  turned  tail,  while  she 
trudged  forward  alone. 

"The  Shearman's  house  !  I  thought  as  much.  Out  he 
comes  again,  and  not  by  himself  I  have  made  acquaint- 
ance with  those  small  bare  legs  before.  I  should  have 
been  astonished  indeed  if  none  of  the  Shearman  fellows 
had  been  mixed  up  with  the  affair.  I  shall  be  even  yet 
with  those  creditable  friends  of  yours,  brother  Adrian. 
So,  it's  you  again,  Johnny,  my  lad  ;  the  pretty  Mercury 
....  Can  it  be  possible  that  Captain  Smith  is  at  his  old 
games  once  more.?'' 


36o  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

Mr,  Landale's  eyes  shone  with  a  curious  eager  light ; 
he  laughed  a  little  mirthless  laugh,  which  was  neither 
pleasant  to  hear  nor  to  give.  "  Dear  me,"  he  said  aloud, 
as  he  watched  the  pair  tramp  together  towards  Scarthey, 
"for  plotters  in  the  dark,  you  are  particularly  easy  to 
detect,  my  good  friends  !  " 

Then  he  checked  himself,  realising  what  a  mere  chance 
it  had  been,  after  all — a  fortuitous  meeting  in  the  passage 
— that  had  first  aroused  his  suspicions,  and  placed  be- 
tween his  fingers  the  end  of  the  thread  he  now  thought  it 
so  simple  to  follow  up.  But  he  did  hold  the  thread,  and 
depended  no  longer  upon  chance  or  guess-work,  but  on 
his  own  relentless  purpose  to  lay  the  plotters  by  the 
heels,  whatever  their  plot  might  be. 

In  the  course  of  an  hour  and  a  half,  Johnny  Shearman, 
whistling,  lighthearted,  and  alone,  was  nearing  his  native 
house  once  more,  when  the  sight  of  a  horseman,  rapidly 
advancing  across  the  sands,  brought  him  to  a  standstill, 
to  stare  with  a  boy's  curiosity.  Presently,  however,  rec- 
ognising Mr.  Landale — a  person  for  whom  he  had  more 
dread  than  admiration — he  was  starting  off  homeward 
again  at  a  brisk  canter,  when  a  stern  hail  from  the  rider 
arrested  him. 

"Johnny!"  The  boy  debated  a  moment,  measured 
the  distance  between  the  cottage  and  himself,  and 
shrewdly  recognised  the  advisability  of  obeying. 
"Johnny,  my  boy,  I  want  you  at  the  Hall ;  take  hold  of 
my  stirrup,  and  come  along  with  me." 

The  boy,  with  every  symptom  of  reluctance,  demurred, 
pleading  a  promise  to  return  to  his  mother.  Then  he 
suddenly  perceived  a  look  in  the  gentleman's  eye,  which 
gave  him  a  frantic,  unreasoned  desire  to  bolt  at  once,  and 
at  any  cost.  But  the  horseman  anticipated  the  thought  ; 
bending  in  the  saddle,  he  reached  out  his  arm  and  seized 
the  urchin  by  the  collar. 

' '  Why,  you  little  devil,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 
he  asked,  grinning  ominously  into  the  chubby,  terrified 
face.  "  It  strikes  me  it  is  time  you  and  I  should  come 
to  a  little  understanding.  Any  more  letters  from  the 
smuggler  to-day,  eh  ?  Ah,  would  you,  you  young  idiot  !  " 
and  Mr.  Landale's  fingers  gave  a  sudden  twist  to  the  collar, 
which  strangled  the  rising  yell.  "  Listen,  Johnny," 
tightening  his  grasp  gradually  until  the  brown  face  grew 


THE  END  OF  THE  THREAD  361 

scanet,  then  purple,  and  the  goggling  eyes  seemed  to  start 
out  of  their  sockets  ;  "that  is  what  it  feels  like  to  be 
hanged.  They  squeeze  your  neck  so  ;  and  they  leave 
you  dangling  at  the  end  of  a  rope  till  you  are  dead,  dead, 
dead,  and  the  crows  come  and  eat  you.  Do  you  want  to 
be  hanged.!*" 

For  some  moments  more  he  kept  the  writhing  lad  under 
the  torture  ;  then  loosening  his  grip,  without  however 
relinquishing  his  hold,  allowed  him  to  taste  once  more 
the  living  air. 

"  Do  you  want  to  be  hanged,  Johnny  Shearman  ?  "  he 
asked  again  gravely.  The  lad  burst  into  gasping  sobs, 
and  looked  up  at  his  captor  with  an  agony  of  fear  in  his 
bloodshot  eyes.  "  No,"  continued  Mr.  Landale,  "  I  am 
sure  you  don't,  eh  ? "  with  a  renewed  ominous  contrac- 
tion of  the  hand.  "  It's  a  fearful  thing,  is  hanging.  And 
yet  many  a  lad,  hardly  older  than  you,  has  been  hanged 
for  less  than  you  are  doing.  Magistrates  can  get  people 
hanged,  and  I  am  a  magistrate,  you  know.  S/op  that 
noise  !  " 

"  Now,"  continued  the  gentleman,  "  there  are  one  or 
two  little  things  I  want  to  know  myself,  Johnny,  and  it's 
just  possible  I  might  let  you  off  for  this  time  if  by  chance 
you  were  able  to  tell  them  to  me.  So,  for  your  sake,  I 
hope  you  may  be." 

He  could  see  that  the  boy's  mind  was  now  completely 
turned  with  fright. 

"  If  you  were  to  try  to  run  away  again  I  should  know 
you  had  secrets  to  keep  from  me,  and  then,  Johnny  Shear- 
man, it  would  go  hard  with  you  indeed  !  Now  come 
along  beside  me,  up  to  the  Hall." 

Quite  certain  of  his  prey,  he  released  him,  and,  setting 
his  horse  to  a  trot,  smiled  to  note  the  desperate  clutch  of 
the  lad  upon  his  stirrup  leather,  as,  with  the  perspiration 
dripping  from  his  face,  and  panting  breath,  he  struggled 
to  keep  up  the  pace  alongside. 

Marched  with  tremendous  ceremony  into  the  magis- 
trate's study  and  directed  to  stand  right  opposite  the  light, 
while  Mr.  Landale  installed  himself  in  an  arm-chair  with  a 
blood-curdling  air  of  judicial  sternness,  Johnny  Shearman, 
at  most  times  as  dare-devil  a  pickle  of  a  boy  as  ever  ran, 
but  now  reduced  to  a  state  of  mental  and  physical  jelly, 
underwent  a  terrible  cross-examination.     It  was  compar- 


362  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

atively  little  that  he  had  to  say,  and  no  doubt  he  wished 
most  fervently  he  had  greater  revelations  to  make,  and 
could  thus  propitiate  the  arbiter  of  the  appalling  fate  he 
firmly  believed  might  lie  in  store  for  him.  Meagre  as  his 
narrative  vv^as,  however,  it  quite  sufficed  for  Mr.  Landale. 

"I  think,  Johnny,"  he  said  more  pleasantly,  well 
knowing  the  inducement  that  a  sudden  relaxation  from 
fear  offers  to  a  witness's  garrulity,  "I  think  I  may  say 
you  will  not  hang  this  time — that  is,"  with  a  sudden 
hardening  of  his  voice,  and  making  a  great  show  of 
checking  the  answers  with  pen  and  ink  in  his  most 
magisterial  manner,  "  that  is  if  you  have  really  told  me 
all  you  know  and  it  be  all  true.  Now  let  us  see,  and  take 
care.  You  saw  no  one  at  the  peel  to-day  but  Renny 
Potter,  I\Irs.  Potter  and  Mrs.  Crackenshaw  }  " 

"No,  sir." 

"But  you  heard  other  voices  in  the  next  room — a  man's 
voice — whilst  you  were  waiting  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir."  ' 

"Then  Renny  Potter  came  back  and  gave  you  a  mes- 
sage for  your  brothers.  This  message  they  made  you 
repeat,  over  and  over  again.  How  did  it  go .'' "  And  as 
Mr.  Landale  frowningly  looked  at  his  paper,  the  boy 
tremblingly  repeated  : 

"I  mun  tell  brothers  Will  an'  Rob,  that  one  or  t'other 
mun  watchen  the  light  o'  nights,  to-night,  to-morrow 
night,  an'  ontil  woord  coom  again.  If  light  go  out  they 
mun  setten  forth  in  they  ketch  thot  moment,  fettled  op 
for  a  two-three  days'  sailing.  If  wind  is  contrairy  like, 
they  mun  take  sweeps.  This  for  the  master's  service — 
for  Sir  Adrian's  service  !  " — amending  the  phrase  with  a 
sharp  reading  of  the  blackness  of  Mr.  Landale's  swift 
upward  look. 

"Yes,"  murmured  the  latter  after  a  pause.  "  And  you 
were  to  tell  no  one  else.  You  were  to  keep  it  above  all 
from  getting  to  my  ears.  Very  good,  Johnny.  If  you 
have  spoken  the  truth,  you  are  safe." 

There  was  a  special  cell,  off  the  official  study,  with 
high  windows,  bolts  and  bars,  and  a  wooden  bench,  for 
the  temporary  housing  of  such  desperate  criminals  as 
might  be  brought  to  the  judgment  of  Rupert  Landale, 
Esquire,  J.  P.  There  he  now  disposed  of  tlie  young 
offender  who  snivelled  piteously  once  more  ;  and  having 


THE  END  OF  THE  THREAD  363 

locked  the  door  and  pocketed  the  key,  returned  to  his 
capacious  arm-chair,  where,  as  the  twilight  waned  over 
the  land,  he  fell  to  co-ordinating  his  scheme  and  gloating 
upon  this  unexpected  turn  of  Fortune's  wheel. 

At  that  hour  Madeleine,  alone  in  her  chamber,  knelt 
before  her  little  altar,  wrestling  with  the  rebellion  of  her 
soul  and  besieging  the  heavens  with  a  cry  for  peace. 

Sir  Adrian  having  failed  to  hear  aught  of  the  Peregrine 
at  St.  Malo,  filled  with  harassing  doubt  about  its  fate  but 
clutching  still  at  hope — as  men  will,  even  such  pessimists 
as  he — stood  on  the  deck  of  his  homeward  bound  ship, 
straining  his  eyes  in  the  dusk  for  the  coast  line. 

In  the  peel,  the  beacon  had  just  been  lighted  by  Ren^, 
in  whose  company,  up  in  his  secluded  turret,  sat  Captain 
Jack,  smoking  a  pipe,  but  so  unusually  silent  as  to  have 
reduced  even  the  loquacious  Frenchman  to  silence  too. 
Below  them  Lady  Landale,  torn  between  the  dread  of  a 
final  separation  from  the  loadstar  of  her  existence  and 
the  gnawing  anxiety  roused  in  her  bosom  by  Moggie's 
account  of  Mr.  Landale's  watchfulness,  was  pacing  the 
long  book-lined  room  with  the  restlessness  of  a  caged 
panther. 

On  the  road  from  Lancaster  to  Pulwick  a  posse  of  rid- 
ing officers  and  a  carriage  full  of  hastily  gathered  prevent- 
ive men  were  trotting  on  their  way  to  the  Priory. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
THE  LIGHT  GOES  OUT 

The  light  of  Scarthey  had  not  been  shining  for  quite  an 
hour  over  the  wilderness,  when  Lady  Landale,  suddenly 
breaking  the  chain  of  her  restless  tramp,  ran  to  the  door 
and  called  for  Moggie. 

There  was  so  shrill  a  tone  of  anguish  in  the  summons 
that  the  young  woman  rushed  into  the  room  in  trembling 
expectancy  :  yet  it  was  to  find  her  mistress  alone  and  the 
place  undisturbed. 

"Moggie,"  said  Lady  Landale,  panting  and  pressing 
her  hands  upon  her  side  as  if  in  the  endeavour  to  control 
the  beating  of  her  heart,  "  something  is  going  to  happen  ; 
I  know  it,  I  feel  it !  Tell  Captain  Smith  that  I  must  speak 
to  him,  here,  at  once." 

Infected  by  the  terror  upon  her  mistress's  face,  Madame 
Lapotre  flew  upon  her  errand  ;  a  moment  later,  Captain 
Jack  entered  the  room  and  stood  before  Lady  Landale 
with  a  look  of  impatient  inquiry. 

"  Oh,  it  is  wicked,  it  is  mad  !  "  cried  she  passionately  ; 
"it  is  tempting  God  to  remain  here  !  " 

"  Of  whom  are  you  speaking .?  "  he  asked,  with  an  in- 
voluntary glance  of  contempt  at  the  distracted  figure. 
"  If  it  is  of  yourself,  I  entirely  concur.  How  often  these 
last  days,  and  how  earnestly  have  I  not  begged  of  you  to 
return  to  Pulwick .?  Was  not  the  situation  you  placed  me 
in  with  regard  to  Adrian  already  odious  enough  that  it 
needed  this  added  folly  ?  Oh,  I  know — I  know  what  you 
would  say  :  spare  it  me.  My  safety  ?  You  fear  for  me  ? 
Ah,  Lady  Landale,  that  you  could  have  but  left  me  in 
peace  !  " 

He  had  waxed  hot  with  anger  from  his  first  would-be 
calmness,  as  he  spoke.  This  dismal  life  of  close  but 
inharmonious  proximity,  started  upon  the  seas  and  con- 
tinued under  his  absent   friend's  own  roof  had  tried  his 

364 


THE  LIGHT  GOES  OUT  365 

impetuous  temper  to  the  utmost.  Upon  the  morrow  of 
their  return  he  had,  indeed,  exercised  all  his  powers  of 
persuasion  to  induce  Lady  Landale  to  proceed  to  the 
Priory  ;  but,  impelled  by  her  frantic  dread  of  the  separa- 
tion, and  entrenching  herself  behind  the  argument  that 
her  mysterious  re-appearance  would  awaken  suspicion 
where  people  would  otherwise  believe  the  Peregrine  still 
in  foreign  parts,  she  had  declared  her  irrevocable  deter- 
mination not  to  quit  the  island  until  she  knew  him  to  be 
safe.  And  he  had  remained,  actuated  by  the  dual  desire, 
first  to  exonerate  himself  personally  in  her  husband's  eyes 
from  any  possible  suspicion  of  complicity  in  Molly's  flight 
— the  bare  thought  of  which  had  become  a  horrible  tor- 
ment to  him — then  to  encompass  through  that  good 
friend's  means  an  interview  and  full  explanation  with 
Madeleine,  which  not  only  the  most  ordinary  precaution 
for  his  life,  but  likewise  every  instinct  of  pride  forbade 
him  now  to  seek  himself. 

Thus  began  a  state  of  affairs  which,  as  the  days  suc- 
ceeded each  other  without  news  of  Sir  Adrian,  became 
every  moment  more  intolerable  to  his  loyalty.  The  inac- 
tion, the  solitary  hours  of  reflection  ;  the  maddening  feel- 
ing of  unavailing  proximity  to  his  heart's  dearest,  of  im- 
potency  against  the  involving  meshes  of  the  present  false 
and  hateful  position  ;  all  this  had  brought  into  the  young 
man's  soul  a  fever  of  anger,  which,  as  fevers  will,  con- 
sumed him  the  more  fiercely  because  of  his  vigour  and 
strength. 

It  was  with  undisguised  hatred  and  with  scorn  immeas- 
urable that  he  now  surveyed  the  woman  who  had  de- 
graded him  in  his  own  eyes.  At  another  time  Molly 
might  have  yielded  before  his  resentment,  but  at  this  hour 
her  whole  being -was  encompassed  by  a  single  thought. 

"It  is  for  you — for  you  !  "  she  repeated  with  ashen  lips  ; 
"you  must  go  before  it  is  too  late." 

"And  is  it  not  too  late.?  "  stormed  he.  "Too  late,  in- 
deed, do  I  see  my  treachery  to  Adrian,  my  more  than 
brother  !  Upon  my  ship  I  could  not  avoid  your  com- 
pany, but  here — Oh,  I  should  have  thought  of  him  and 
not  of  myself,  and  done  as  my  honour  bade  me  !  You 
are  right ;  since  you  would  not  go,  I  should  have  done  so. 
It  was  weak  ;  it  was  mad  ;  worse,  worse — dishonourable!  " 

But  she  had  no  ears  for  his  reproaches,  no  power  to 


366  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

feel  the  wounds  he  dealt  her  woman's  heart  with  such 
relentless  hand. 

"Then  you  will  go,"  she  cried.  "Tell  Ren^,  the 
signal." 

He  started  and  looked  at  her  with  a  different  expres- 
sion. 

"  Have  you  heard  anything  ;  has  anything  happened.?  " 
he  asked,  recovering  self-restraint  at  the  thought  of  danger. 

"  Not  yet,"  she  replied,    "  not  yet,  but  it  is  coming." 

Her  look  and  voice  were  so  charged  with  tragic  force 
that  for  the  moment  he  was  impressed,  and,  brave  man 
though  he  was,  felt  a  little  cold  thrill  run  down  his  spine. 
She  continued,  in  accents  of  the  most  piercing  misery  : 

"And  it  will  have  been  through  me — it  will  have  been 
through  me  !  Oh,  in  mercy  let  me  make  the  signal !  Say 
you  will  go  to-night." 

"I  will  go." 

There  followed  a  little  pause  of  breathless  silence  be- 
tween them.  Then  as,  without  speaking,  he  would  have 
turned  away,  a  loud,  peremptory  knock  resounded  upon 
the  door  of  the  keep  and  echoed  and  re-echoed  with 
lugubrious  reverberation  through  the  old  stone  passages 
around  them. 

At  first,  terror-stricken,  her  tongue  clave  to  her  palate, 
her  feet  were  rooted  to  the  ground  ;  then  with  a  scream 
she  flung  herself  upon  him  and  would  have  dragged  him 
towards  the  door. 

"They  have  come — hide — hide  !  " 

He  threw  up  his  head  to  listen,  while  he  strove  to  dis- 
engage himself  The  blood  had  leaped  to  his  cheek,  and 
fire  to  his  eye.      "  And  if  it  be  Adrian  ?  "  he  cried. 

Another  knock  thundered  through  the  still  air. 

"  It  is  but  one  man,"  cried  Ren^  from  his  tower  down 
the  stairs.      "You  may  open,  Moggie." 

"  No — no,"  screamed  Molly  beside  herself,  and  tighter 
clasped  her  arms  round  Captain  Jack's  neck. 

"Adrian,  it  is  Adrian  !  "  said  he.  "  Hush,  Madam,  let 
me  go  !  Would  you  make  the  breach  between  me  and 
my  friend  irreparable  ?  " 

Both  his  hands  were  on  her  wrists  in  the  vain  endeavour 
to  disengage  himself  from  her  frenzied  grip  ;  the  door  was 
flung  open  and  Rupert  Landale  stood  in  the  opening,  and 
looked  in  upon  them. 


THE  LIGHT  GOES  OUT  367 

"Damnation  !"  muttered  Jack  between  his  teeth  and 
flung  her  from  him,  stamping  his  foot. 

Rupert  gazed  from  one  to  the  other  ;  from  the  woman, 
who,  haggard  and  dishevelled,  now  turned  like  a  fury  upon 
him,  to  the  sailor's  fierce  erect  figure.  Then  he  closed  the 
door  with  an  air  of  grave  deliberation. 

"What  do  you  want  ?  "  demanded  Molly — "  you  have 
come  here  for  no  good  purpose.      What  do  you  want .? " 

As  she  spoke  she  strove  to  place  herself  between  the 
two  men. 

"I  came,  my  dear  sister-in-law,"  said  Rupert  in  his 
coldest,  most  incisive  voice,  "to  learn  why,  since  you 
have  come  back  from  your  little  trip,  you  choose  to  re- 
main in  the  ruins  rather  than  return  to  your  own  house 
and  family.  The  reason  is  clear  to  see  now.  My  poor 
brother !  " 

The  revulsion  of  disappointment  had  added  to  the  wrath 
which  the  very  sight  of  Rupert  Landale  aroused  in  Jack 
Smith's  blood ;  this  insinuation  was  the  culminating 
injury.      He  took  a  step  forward. 

"Have  a  care,  sir,"  he  exclaimed,  "how  you  outrage 
in  my  presence  the  wife  of  my  best  friend  !  Have  a  care 
— I  am  not  in  such  a  hurry  to  leave  you  as  when  last  we 
met !  " 

Mr.  Landale  raised  his  eyebrows,  and  again  sent  a  look 
from  Molly  back  to  the  sailor,  the  insolence  of  which 
lashed  beyond  all  control  the  devils  in  the  sailor's  soul. 

"We  have  an  account  to  settle,  it  seems  to  me,  Mr. 
Landale,"  said  he,  taking  another  step  forward  and  slightly 
stooping  his  head  to  look  the  other  in  the  eye.  Crimson 
fury  was  in  his  own.  "  I  doubt  much  whether  it  was  quite 
wise  of  you,  assuming  that  you  expected  to  find  me  here, 
to  have  come  without  that  pistolling  retinue  with  which 
you  provided  yourself  last  time." 

Rupert  smiled  and  crossed  his  arms.  Cowardice  was 
no  part  of  his  character.  He  had  come  in  advance  of  his 
blood-hounds,  in  part  to  assure  himself  of  the  correctness 
of  his  surmises,  but  also  to  feast  upon  the  discomfiture 
of  this  man  and  this  woman  whom  he  hated.  To  have 
found  them  together,  and  thus,  had  been  an  unforeseen 
and  delicious  addition  to  his  dish  of  vengeance,  and  he 
would  linger  over  it  while  he  could. 

"  Well,  Captain  Smith,  and  about  this  account  }     Lady 


368  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

Landale,  I  beg  of  you,  be  silent.  You  have  brought 
sufficient  disgrace  upon  our  name  as  it  is.  Nay,  sir," 
raising  his  voice,  "  it  is  useless  to  shake  your  head  at  me 
in  this  furious  style  ;  nothing  can  alter  facts.  /  saw. 
Who  has  an  account  to  demand  then — you,  whose  life 
is  already  forfeit  for  an  accumulation  of  crimes  ;  you, 
screened  by  a  conspiracy  of  bribed  servants  and  .... 
your  best  friend's  wife,  as  you  dare  call  your  paramour; 
or  I,  in  my  brother's  absence  the  natural  guardian  of  his 
family,  of  his  honour .?  But  I  am  too  late.  One  sister  I 
saved  from  the  ignominy  you  would  have  brought  upon 
her.     The  other  I  could  not  save." 

With  a  roar  Jack  Smith  would  have  sprung  at  the 
speaker ;  but,  once  more,  his  friend's  wife  rushed  be- 
tween. 

"Let  him  speak,"  she  cried,  "what  matter  what  he 
says  ?  But  you — remember  your  promise.  I  will  make 
the  signal." 

The  signal !  The  mask  of  Rupert's  face,  sternly  and 
sadly  rebuking,  was  not  proof  against  the  exquisite  apt- 
ness of  this  proposal.  His  men  outside  were  waiting  for 
the  signal,  surrounding  the  island  from  land  and  seaward, 
(for  the  prey  was  not  to  be  allowed  to  escape  them  again)  ; 
but  how  to  make  it  without  creating  suspicion  had  not 
yet  suggested  itself  to  his  fertile  brain.  Now,  while  he 
held  her  lover  in  play,  Molly  would  herself  deliver  him 
to  justice.  Excellent,  excellent  !  Truly  life  held  some 
delightful  jokes  for  the  man  of  humour  ! 

The  light  of  triumph  came  and  went  upon  his  counte- 
nance like  a  tlash,  but  when  the  life  hangs  upon  the  deci- 
sion of  a  moment  the  wits  become  abnormally  sharp. 
Jack  Smith  saw  it,  halted  upon  his  second  headlong  on- 
slaught, and  turned  round. — Too  late  :  Molly  was  gone. 
He  brought  his  gaze  back  upon  his  enemy  and  saw  he 
had  been  trapped. 

Their  gleams  met  like  duelling  blades,  divining  each 
other's  purpose  with  the  rapidity  of  thrust  answering 
thrust.  Both  made  a  leap  for  the  door.  But  Rupert  was 
nearest  ;  he  first  had  his  hand  on  the  key  and  turned  it, 
and,  with  newly-born  genius  of  fight,  suddenly  begotten 
of  his  hatred,  quickly  stooped,  eluded  the  advancing 
grasp,  was  free  for  one  second,  and  sent  the  key  crashing 
through  the  window  into  the  darkness  of  the  night. 


THE  LIGHT  GOES  OUT  369 

Baffled  by  the  astounding  swiftness  of  the  act,  the 
sailor,  wheeling  round,  had  already  raised  his  fist  to  crush 
his  feebler  foe,  when,  in  the  midst  of  his  fury,  a  glimmer 
of  the  all-importance  of  every  second  of  time  stayed  his 
hand.  He  threw  himself  upon  the  heavy  ladder  that 
rested  against  Sir  Adrian's  rows  of  books,  and,  clasping  it 
by  the  middle,  swung  it  above  his  head.  The  battering 
blow  would,  no  doubt,  have  burst  panel,  lock,  and  hinges 
the  next  instant,  but  again  Rupert  forestalled  him,  and 
charged  him  before  the  door  could  be  reached. 

Overbalanced  by  the  weight  he  held  aloft.  Captain  Jack 
was  hurled  down  headlong  beneath  the  ladder,  and  lay 
for  a  moment  stunned  by  the  violence  of  the  fall. 

When  the  clouds  cleared  away  it  was  to  let  him  see 
Rupert's  face  bending  over  him,  his  pale  lips  wreathed 
into  a  smile  of  malignant  exultation. 

"Caught!"  said  Mr.  Landale,  slowly,  pausing  over 
each  word  as  though  to  prolong  the  savour  of  it  in  his 
mouth,  "caught  this  time!  And  it  is  your  mistress's 
hand  that  puts  the  noose  round  your  neck.  That  is  what 
I  call  poetical  justice." 

The  prostrate  man,  collecting  his  scattered  wits  and  his 
vast  strength,  made  a  violent  effort  to  spring  to  his  feet. 
But  Rupert's  whole  weight  was  upon  him,  his  long  thin 
fingers  were  gripping  him  by  each  shoulder,  his  face 
grinned  at  him,  close,  detested,  infuriating.  The  grasp 
that  held  him  seemed  to  belong  to  no  flesh  and  blood,  it 
was  as  the  grasp  of  skeleton  hands,  the  grinning  face 
became  like  a  death's  head. 

"I  shall  come  to  your  hanging,  Captain  Jack  Smith,  or 
rather,  Mr.   Hubert  Cochrane  of  the  Shaws." 

These  were  the  last  words  of  Rupert  Landale.  A  red 
whirl  passed  through  the  sailor's  brain,  his  hands  fell  like 
lashes  round  the  other's  neck  and  drew  it  down.  If 
Hubert  Cochrane  dies  so  does  Rupert  Landale  :  that  throat 
shall  never  give  sound  to  that  name  again. 

Over  and  over  they  roll  like  savage  beasts,  but  yet  in 
deathly  silence.  For  the  pressure  of  the  fingers  on  his 
gullet,  fingers  that  seem  to  gain  fresh  strength  every 
moment  and  pierce  into  his  very  flesh,  will  not  allow  even 
a  sigh  to  pass  Rupert's  lips,  and  Jack  can  spare  no  atom 
of  his  energy  from  the  fury  of  fight  :  not  one  to  spare 
even  for  the  hearing  of  the  frantic  knocks  at  the  door,  the 
24 


370  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

calls,  the  hammering  at  the  lock,  the  desperate  efforts 
without  to  prise  it  open. 

But  if  Rupert  Landale  must  die  so  shall  Hubert  Cochrane, 
and  by  the  hangman's  hand,  treble  doomed  by  this.  The 
same  thought  fills  both  these  men's  heads  ;  the  devil  of 
murder  has  possession  of  both  their  souls.  But,  true  to 
himself  to  the  last,  it  is  with  Rupert  a  calculating  devil. 
The  officers  must  soon  be  here  :  he  will  hold  the  scoun- 
drel yet  with  the  grasp  of  death,  and  his  enemy  shall  be 
found  red-handed — red-handed  ! 

His  hatred,  his  determination  of  vengeance,  the  very 
agony  of  the  unequal  struggle  for  life  gave  him  a  power 
that  is  almost  a  match  for  the  young  athlete  in  his 
frenzy. 

The  dying  efforts  of  his  victim  tax  Jack's  strength  more 
than  the  living  fight ;  but  his  hands  are  still  locked  in 
their  fatal  clutch  when  at  last,  with  one  fearful  and  spas- 
modic jerk,  Rupert  Landale  falls  motionless.  Then  ex- 
haustion enwraps  the  conqueror  also,  like  a  mantle.  He, 
too,  lies  motionless  with  his  cheek  on  the  floor,  face  to 
face  with  the  corpse,  dimly  conscious  of  the  voluptuous- 
ness of  victory.  But  the  dead  grasp  still  holds  him  by 
the  wrists,  and  it  grows  cold  now,  and  rigid  upon  them. 
It  is  as  if  they  were  fettered  with  iron. 

Lady  Landale's  dread  of  her  once  despised  kinsman, 
now  that  she  knew  what  a  powerful  weapon  he  held  in 
his  hands,  this  night,  was  almost  fantastic. 

As  she  darted  from  the  room,  she  fell  against  Rend, 
who,  with  a  white  face  and  bent  ear,  stood  at  the  door, 
eavesdropping,  ready  to  rush  to  the  help  of  Sir  Adrian's 
friend  upon  the  first  hint  of  necessity.  But  he  had  heard 
more  than  he  bargained  for. 

The  scared,  well-nigh  agonised  look  of  inquiry  with 
which  he  turned  to  his  mistress  was  lost  upon  her.  In 
her  whirlwind  exit,  she  seized  upon  him  and  dragged  him 
with  her  to  the  ladder  that  led  to  the  tower. 

"Quick,  Rend,  the  signal !  " 

And  with  the  birdlike  swiftness  of  a  dream  flight  she 
was  up  the  steps  before  him. 

Panting  in  her  wake,  ran  the  sturdy  fellow,  his  brain 
seething  in  a  chaos  of  conflicting  thought.  Mr.  the 
Captain  must  be  helped,  must  be  saved  :  this  one  thingj 


THE  LIGHT  GOES  OUT  371 

was  clear  at  any  rate.  His  honour  would  wish  it  so — no 
matter  what  had  happened.  Yes,  he  would  obey  My 
Lady  and  make  the  signal.  But,  what  if  Mr.  Landale 
were  right?  Not  indeed  in  his  accusation  of  Mr.  the 
Captain,  Rene  knew,  Rene  had  seen  enough  to  trust  him  : 
he  was  no  false  friend ;  but  as  regarded  My  Lady  ? 
Alas  !  My  Lady  had  indeed  been  strange  in  her  manner 
these  days  ;  and  even  Moggie,  as  he  minded  him  now, 
even  Moggie  had  noticed,  had  hinted,  and  he  had  not 
understood. 

The  man's  fingers  fumbled  over  the  catch  of  the  great 
lantern,  he  shook  as  if  he  had  the  palsy.  Goodness 
divine,  if  his  master  were  to  come  home  to  this  ! 

Impatiently  Lady  Landale  pushed  him  upon  one  side. 
What  ailed  the  fellow,  when  every  second  was  crucial, 
life  or  death  bringing  ?  Medusa-like  for  one  second  her 
face  hung,  white-illumined,  set  into  terrible  fixity,  above 
the  great  flame,  the  next  instant  all  was  blackness  to 
their  dazzled  eyes.     The  light  of  Scarthey  was  out ! 

She  groped  for  Rene;  her  hot  fingers  burnt  upon  his 
cold  rough  hand  for  a  second. 

"  I  will  go  down  to  the  sands,"  she  said,  whispering  as 
if  she  feared,  even  here,  the  keenness  of  Rupert's  ear, 
"and  you — hurry  to  him,  stop  vi^ith  him,  defend  him, 
your  master's  friend  !  " 

She  flitted  from  him  like  a  shadow,  the  ladder  creaked 
faintly  beneath  her  light  footfall,  and  then  louder  beneath 
his  weighty  tread. 

His  master's  friend  ! 

Ay,  he  would  stand  by  him,  for  his  master's  sake  and 
for  his  own  sake  too — the  good  gentleman  ! — And  they 
M'^ould  get  him  safe  out  of  the  way  before  his  honour's 
return. 

Out  upon  the  beach  ran  Molly, 

It  was  a  mild  still  night  ;  through  veils  of  light  mist  the 
moon  shone  with  a  tranquil  bride-like  grace  upon  the 
heaving  palpitating  waters  and  the  mystery  of  the  silent 
land. 

A  very  night  for  lovers,  it  seemed  ;  for  sweet  meetings 
and  sweeter  partings  ;  a  night  that  mocked  with  its  great 
passionless  calm  at  the  wild  anguish  of  this  woman's 
impatience.      Yet  a  night  upon  which  sound  travelled  far. 


372  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

She  bent  her  ear — was  there  nothing  to  hear  yet,  nothing 
but  the  lap  of  the  restless  waters  ?     Were  those  men  false  ? 

She  rushed  to  and  fro,  from  one  point  to  another  along 
the  sands  in  a  delirium  of  impotent  desire. 

Oh,  hurry,  hurry,  hurry  ! 

And  as  she  turned  again,  there,  upon  the  waters  out  in 
the  offing,  glimmered  a  light,  curtseying  with  the  swell  of 
the  waves  ;  the  sails  of  a  ship  caught  the  moonbeams. 
She  could  see  the  vessel  plainly  and  that  it  was  bearing 
full  for  the  island.  Alas  !  This  might  scarcely  be  the 
little  Shearman  boat  manned  by  two  fishermen  only ; 
even  she,  unversed  in  sea  knowledge  could  tell  that.  It 
was  as  large  as  the  Peregrine  itself — certainly  as  large  as 
the  cutter. 

The  cutter  I 

She  caught  her  breath,  and  clapped  her  hands  to  her 
lips  to  choke  down  the  wild  scream  of  fear  that  rose  to 
them. 

At  the  same  instant,  a  dull  thud  of  oars,  a  subdued 
murmur  of  a  deep  voice  rose  from  the  other  side  of  the 
island. 

They  were  coming,  coming  from  the  landward,  these 
rescuers  of  her  beloved.  And  yonder,  with  swelling 
canvas,  came  the  hell  ship  from  out  the  open  sea,  sent 
by  Rupert's  infernal  malice  and  cleverness,  to  make  their 
help  of  no  avail ;  to  seize  him,  in  the  very  act  of  flight. 

She  ran  in  the  direction  of  the  sound,  and  with  all  her 
strength  called  upon  the  new-comers  to  speed. 

"  Here — here,  for  God's  sake  !  Hasten  or  it  will  be  too 
late  !  " 

Her  voice  seemed  to  her,  in  the  midst  of  the  endless 
space,  weak  as  a  child's  ;  but  it  was  heard. 

"Coming!"  answered  a  gruff  shout  from  afar.  And 
the  oar  beat  came  closer,  and  fell  with  swifter  rhythm. 
Stumbling,  catching  in  her  skirts,  careless  of  pool  or  stone 
beneath  her  little  slippered  feet,  Lady  Landale  came  fly- 
ing round  the  ruins  :  a  couple  of  boats  crashed  in  upon 
the  shingle,  and  the  whole  night  seemed  suddenly  to  be- 
come alive  with  dark  figures — men  in  uniform,  with 
gleams  upon  them  of  brass  badges  and  shining  belts,  and 
in  their  hands  the  gleam  of  arms. 

For  the  moment  she  could  not  move.  It  was  as  if  her 
knees  were  giving  way,  and  she  must  fall. 


THE  LIGHT  GOES  OUT  373 

None  of  them  saw  her  in  the  shadow  ;  but  as  they 
passed,  she  heard  them  talking  to  each  other  about  the 
signal,  the  signal  which  they  had  been  told  to  look  for, 
which  had  been  brought  to  them  ....  the  signal  she 
had  made.  Then  with  a  wave  of  rage,  the  power  of  life 
returned  to  her.  This  was  Rupert's  work  !  But  all  was 
not  lost  yet.  The  other  boat  was  coming,  the  other  boat 
must  be  the  rescue  after  all  ;  the  Shearman's  boat,  or — 
who  knows .? — if  there  was  mercy  in  Heaven,  the  Pere- 
grine, whose  crew  might  have  heard  of  their  captain's  risk. 

Back   she  raced  to    the  seaward   beach,    hurling — un- 
knowing that  she  spoke  at  all — invectives  upon  her  hus 
band's  brother. 

"Serpent,  blood-hound,  devil,  devil,  you  shall  not 
have  him  !  " 

As  she  reached  the  landing-place,  breathless,  ,  a  boat 
was  landing  in  very  truth.  Even  as  she  came  up  a  tall 
figure  jumped  out  upon  the  sand,  and  crunched  towards 
her  with  great  strides. 

She  made  a  leap  forward,  halted,  and  cried  out  shrilly  : 

"Adrian!" 

"Molly — wife  !  Thank  God  !  "  His  arms  were  stretched 
out  to  her,  but  he  saw  her  waver  and  shudder  from  him, 
and  wring  her  hands.  "My  God,  what  has  happened? 
The  light  out.  too  !     What  is  it .?  " 

She  fastened  on  him  with  a  sudden  fierceness,  the 
spring  of  a  wild  cat. 

"Come,"  she  said,  drawing  him  towards  the  peel,  "if 
you  would  save  him,  lose  not  a  second." 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  still ;  she  tugged  at  him  like 
one  demented,  panting  her  abjurations  at  him,  though 
her  voice  was  failing  her.  Then,  without  a  word,  he  fell 
to  running  with  her  towards  the  keep,  supporting  her  as 
they  went. 

The  great  door  had  swung  back  on  its  hinges,  and  the 
men  were  pressing,  in  a  dark  body,  into  the  dim-lit  re- 
cesses, when  Sir  Adrian  and  his  wife  reached  the  entrance. 

The  sight  of  the  uniforms  only  confirmed  the  home- 
comer  in  his  own  forebodings  anent  the  first  act  of  the 
drama  that  was  being  enacted  upon  his  peaceful  island. 
He  needed  no  further  pushing  from  the  frantic  woman  at 
his  side.  Lost  in  bringing  her  back,  perhaps,  his  only 
friend  !     Lost  by  his  loyalty  and  his  true  friendship  ! 


374  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

They  dashed  up  the  stone  stairs  just  as  the  locked  door 
of  the  living-room  burst  with  a  crash,  under  the  efforts  of 
many  stalwart  shoulders  ;  they  saw  the  men  crush  for- 
wards, and  fall  back,  and  herd  on  again,  with  a  hoarse 
murmur  that  leaped  from  mouth  to  mouth. 

And  Rene'  came  running  out  from  the  throng  with  the 
face  of  one  that  has  seen  Death.  And  he  caught  his  mis- 
tress by  the  arm,  and  held  her  by  main  force  against  the 
wall.  He  showed  no  surprise  at  the  sight  of  his  master — 
there  are  moments  in  life  that  are  beyond  surprise — but 
cried  wildly  : 

"She  must  not  see  !  " 

She  fought  like  a  tigress  against  the  faithful  arms,  but 
still  they  held  her,  and  Sir  Adrian  went  in  alone. 

A  couple  of  men  were  dragging  Captain  Jack  to  his  feet, 
forcing  his  hands  from  the  dead  man's  throat ;  it  seemed 
as  if  they  had  grown  as  rigid  and  paralysed  in  their  clasp 
like  the  corpse  hands  that  had  now,  likewise,  to  be 
wrenched  from  their  clutch  of  him. 

He  glanced  around,  as  though  dazed,  then  down  at  the 
disfigured  purple  face  of  his  dead  enemy,  smiled  and  held 
out  his  hands  stiffly  for  the  gyves  that  were  snapped  upon 
them. 

And  then  one  of  the  fellows,  with  some  instinctive  feel- 
ing of  decency,  flung  a  coat  over  the  slain  man,  and 
Captain  Jack  threw  up  his  head  and  met  Adrian's  horror- 
stricken,  sorrowful  eyes. 

At  the  unexpected  sight  he  grew  scarlet ;  he  waved  his 
fettered  hands  at  him  as  they  hustled  him  forth. 

"I  have  killed  your  brother,  Adrian,"  he  called  out  in 
a  loud  voice,   "but  I  brought  back  your  wife  !  " 

Some  of  the  men  were  speaking  to  Sir  Adrian,  but  drew 
back  respectfully  before  the  spectacle  of  his  wordless 
agony. 

But,  as  Molly,  with  a  shriek,  would  have  flung  herself 
after  the  prisoner,  her  husband  awoke  to  action,  and, 
pushing  Rene  aside,  caught  her  round  the  waist  with  an 
unyielding  grip  :  his  eyes  sought  her  face.  And,  as  the 
light  fell  on  it,  he  understood.  Aye,  she  had  been 
brought  back  to  him.      But  how  ? 

And  Rene,  watching  his  master's  countenance,  sud- 
denly burst  out  blubbering,  like  a  child. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

HUSBAND  AND  WIFE 

Tout  comprendre — 

c'est  tout  pardonner. 

Staring  straight  before  her  with  haggard,  unseeing 
eyes,  her  hands  clasped  till  the  delicate  bones  protruded, 
her  young  face  lined  into  sudden  agedness,  grey  with  un- 
natural pallor,  framed  by  the  black  masses  of  her  dishev- 
elled hair,  it  was  thus  Sir  Adrian  found  his  wife,  when  at 
length  he  was  free  to  seek  her. 

He  and  Rene  had  laid  the  dead  man  upon  the  bed  that 
had  been  occupied  by  his  murderer,  and  composed  as 
decently  as  might  be  the  hideous  corpse  of  him  who  had 
been  the  handsomest  of  his  race.  Rene  had  given  his 
master  the  tale  of  all  he  knew  himself,  and  Sir  Adrian  had 
ordered  the  boat  to  be  prepared,  determined  to  convey 
Lady  Landale  at  once  from  the  scene  of  so  much  horror. 
His  own  return  to  Pulwick,  moreover,  to  break  the  news 
to  Sophia,  to  attend  to  the  removal  of  the  body  and  the 
preparation  for  the  funeral  was  of  immediate  necessity. 

As  he  approached  his  wife  she  raised  her  eyes. 

"What  do  you  want  with  me?"  she  asked,  with  a 
stony  look  that  arrested  him,  as  he  would  gently  have 
taken  her  hand. 

"I  would  bring  you  home." 

"Home  !  "  the  pale  lips  writhed  in  withering  derision. 

"Yes,  home,  Molly,"  he  spoke  as  one  might  to  a  much- 
loved  and  unreasonable  sick  child — with  infinite  tender- 
ness and  compassion — "your  own  warm  home,  with 
your  sister.  You  would  like  to  go  to  Madeleine,  would 
not  you? " 

She  unclasped  her  hands  and  threw  them  out  before 
her  with  a  savage  gesture  of  repulsion. 

"To  Madeleine?"  she  echoed,  with  an  angry  cry ;  and 

375 


376  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

then  wheeling  round  upon  him  fiercely  :  "  Do  you  want 
to  kill  me  ?  "  she  said,  between  her  set  teeth. 

Sir  Adrian's  weary  brow  contracted.  He  paused  and 
looked  at  her  with  profoundest  sorrow. 

Then  she  asked,  hoarsely  : 

"  Where  have  they  taken  him  to  ?  " 

*'To  Lancaster,  1  believe." 

"Will  they  hang  him.?" 

"I  pray  God  not." 

"There  is  no  use  of  praying  to  God,  God  is  merciless. 
What  will  they  do  to  him  ?  " 

"He  will  be  tried,  Molly,  in  due  course,  and  then,  ac- 
cording to  the  sentence  of  the  judges  ....  My  poor 
child,  control  yourself,  he  shall  be  defended  by  the  best 
lawyers  that  money  can  get.  All  a  man  can  do  for 
another  I  shall  do  for  him." 

She  shot  the  sombre  fire  of  her  glance  at  him. 

"You  know  that  I  love  him,"  she  said,  with  a  terrible 
composure. 

A  sudden  whiteness  spread  round  Sir  Adrian's  lips, 

"  Poor  child  !  "  he  said  again  beneath  his  breath. 

"Yes,  I  love  him.  I  always  wanted  to  see  him.  I 
was  sick  and  tired  of  life  at  Pulwick,  and  that  was  why  I 
went  on  board  his  ship.  I  went  deliberately  because  I 
could  not  bear  the  dulness  of  it  all.  He  mistook  me  for 
Madeleine  in  the  dark — he  kissed  me.  Afterwards  I  told 
him  that  I  loved  him.  I  begged  him  to  take  me  away  with 
him,  for  ever.  I  love  him  still,  I  would  go  with  him  still 
— it  is  as  well  that  you  should  know.  Nothing  can  alter 
it  now.      But  he  did  not  want  me.     He  loves  Madeleine." 

The  words  fell  from  her  lips  with  a  steady,  cruel,  delib- 
erateness.  She  kept  her  eyes  upon  him  as  she  spoke, 
unpityingly,  uncaring  what  anguish  she  inflicted  ;  nay,  it 
seemed  from  some  strange  perversity,  glad  to  make  him 
suffer. 

But  hard  upon  a  man  as  it  must  be  to  hear  such  a  con- 
fession from  his  wife's  lips,  doubly  hard  to  such  a  one  as 
Adrian,  whose  heart  bled  for  her  pain  as  well  as  for  his 
own,  he  held  himself  without  departing  for  a  second  from 
his  wonted  quiet  dignity.  Only  in  his  earnest  gaze  upon 
her  there  was  perhaps,  if  possible,  an  added  tenderness. 

But  she,  to  see  him  so  unmoved,  was  moved  herself  to 
a  sudden  scorn. 


HUSBAND  AND  WIFE  377 

What  manner  of  man  was  this,  that  not  love,  nor 
Jealousy,  nor  anger  had  power  to  stir  ? 

"And  now  what  will  you  do  with  me?*'  she  asked  him 
again,  with  superb  contempt  on  eye  and  lip.  "  For  a 
guilty  wife  I  am  to  you,  as  far  as  the  will  could  make  me, 
and  I  have  no  claim  upon  you  any  more." 

"  No  claim  upon  me  !  "  he  repeated,  with  a  wonder  of 
grief  in  his  voice.  "Ah,  Molly,  hush  child!  You  are 
my  wife.  The  child  of  the  woman  I  loved — the  woman 
I  love  for  her  own  sake.  You  can  no  more  put  yourself 
out  of  my  life  now  than  you  can  out  of  my  heart  ;  had 
you  been  as  guilty  in  deed  as  you  may  have  been  in 
purpose  my  words  would  be  the  same.  Your  husband's 
home  is  your  home,  my  only  wish  to  cherish  and  shelter 
you.  You  cannot  escape  my  care,  poor  child,  and  some 
day  you  may  be  glad  of  it.  My  protection,  my  counte- 
nance you  will  always  have.  God  !  who  am  I  that  I 
should  judge  you  ?  Is  there  any  sin  of  human  frailty  that 
a  human  being  dare  condemn?  Guilty?  What  is  your 
guilt  compared  to  mine  for  bringing  you  to  this,  allying 
my  melancholy  age  with  your  bright  youth  ? " 

He  fell  into  the  chair  opposite  to  her  and  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands.  As,  for  a  minute's  space,  his  self- 
control  wavered,  she  watched  him,  wearily.  Her  heat  of 
temper  had  fallen  from  her  very  quickly  ;  she  broke  into 
a  moan. 

"Oh,  what  does  it  matter  ?  What  does  anything  matter 
now  ?  I  love  him  and  I  have  ruined  him — had  it  not 
been  for  me  he  would  be  safe  !  " 

After  a  little  silence  Sir  Adrian  rose.  "  I  must  leave 
you  now,  I  must  go  to  Pulwick,"  he  said.  His  heart 
was  yearning  to  her,  he  would  have  gathered  her  to  his 
arms  as  a  father  his  erring  child,  but  he  refrained  from 
even  touching  her.  "And  you — what  would  you  do? 
It  shall  be  as  you  like." 

"I  would  go  to  Lancaster,"  she  said. 

"The  carriage  shall  be  sent  for  you  in  the  morning  and 
Renny  and  his  wife  shall  go  with  you.  I  will  see  to  it. 
After  Rupert's  funeral — my  God,  what  a  night  this  has 
been  ! — I  will  join  you,  and  together  we  shall  work  to 
save  his  life. " 

He  paused,  hesitated,  and  was  about  to  turn  away  when 
suddenly  she  caught  his  hand  and  kissed  it. 


378  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

He  knew  she  would  as  readily  have  kissed  Rends  hand 
for  a  like  promise  ;  that  her  gratitude  was  a  pitiable  thing 
for  him,  her  husband,  to  bear  ;  and  yet,  all  the  way,  on 
his  sad  and  solitary  journey  to  Pulwick,  the  touch  of  her 
lips  went  with  him,  bringing  a  strange  sweetness  to  his 
heart. 

There  was  a  vast  deal  of  wonder  in  the  county  generally, 
and  among  the  old  friends  of  his  father's  house  in 
particular,  when  it  became  known  that  Sir  Adrian  Landale 
had  engaged  a  noted  counsel  to  defend  his  brother's  mur- 
derer and  was  doing  all  he  could  to  avert  his  probable 
doom.  In  lowered  tones  were  whispered  strange  tales  of 
Lady  Landale's  escapade.  People  wagged  wise  and 
virtuous  heads  and  breathed  scandalous  hints  of  her  power 
upon  her  infatuated  husband  ;  and  then  they  would  tap 
their  foreheads  significantly.  Indeed  it  needed  all  the 
master  of  Pulwicks  wide-spread  reputation  for  mental 
unsoundness  to  enable  him  to  carry  through  such  pro- 
ceedings without  rousing  more  violent  feelings.  As  it 
was,  it  is  to  be  doubted  whether  his  interference  had  any 
other  effect  than  that  of  helping  to  inflame  the  public 
mind  against  the  prisoner. 

The  jury's  verdict  was  a  foregone  conclusion  ;  and 
though  the  learned  lawyer  duly  prepared  a  very  fine 
speech  and  pocketed  some  monstrous  fees  with  a  great  deal 
of  complaisance,  he  was  honest  enough  not  to  hold  out 
the  smallest  hope  of  being  able  to  save  his  client. 

The  conviction  was  too  clear,  the  "  crimes  "  the  prisoner 
had  committed  were  of  "  too  horrible  and  bloody  a  char- 
acter, threatening  the  very  foundations  of  society,"  to 
admit  of  a  merciful  view  of  the  case. 

As  the  trial  drew  near,  Sir  Adrian's  despondency  in- 
creased ;  each  day  seemed  to  bring  a  heavier  furrow  to  his 
brow,  an  added  weight  to  his  lagging  steps.  He  avoided 
as  much  as  possible  all  meetings  with  his  wife,  who,  on 
the  contrary,  recovered  stronger  courage  with  the  flight  of 
time,  but  whose  feverish  interest  in  his  exertions  was  now 
transferred  to  some  secret  plans  that  she  was  for  ever  dis- 
cussing with  Rend.  The  prisoner  himself  showed  great 
calmness. 

"They  will  sentence  me  of  course,"  he  said  quietly  to 
Adrian,  "but  whether  they  will  hang  me  is  another  ques- 


HUSBAND  AND  WIFE  379 

tion.     I  don't  think  that  my  hour  has  come  yet  or  that  the 
cord  is  twisted  which  will  hang  Jack  Smith." 

In  other  moods,  he  would  ridicule  Sir  Adrian's  labours 
in  his  cause  with  the  most  gentle  note  of  affectionate 
mockery.  But,  from  the  desire  doubtless  to  save  one  so 
disinterested  and  unworldly  from  any  accusation  of  com- 
plicity, he  was  silent  upon  the  schemes  on  which  he  pinned 
his  hopes  of  escape. 

The  first  meeting  of  the  friends  after  the  scene  at 
Scarthey  had  been,  of  course,  painful  to  both. 

When  he  entered  the  cell,  Adrian  had  stretched  out  his 
hand  in  silence,  but  Captain  Jack  held  his  own  pressed  to 
his  side. 

"  It  is  like  you  to  come,"  he  said  gloomily,  "but  you 
cannot  shake  the  hand  that  stifled  your  brother's  life  out 
of  him.  And  I  should  do  it  again,  Adrian  !  Mark  you, 
I  am  not  repentant!" 

"Give  me  your  hand,  Jack,"  said  Adrian  steadfastly. 
"  I  am  not  of  those  who  shift  responsibility  from  the  dead 
to  the  living.  You  were  grievously  treated.  Oh,  give 
me  your  hand,  friend,  can  I  think  of  anything  now  but 
your  peril  and  your  truth  to  me.''  " 

For  an  instant  still  the  younger  man  hesitated  and 
inquiringly  raised  his  eyes  laden  with  anxious  trouble, 
to  the  elder  man's  face. 

"My  wife  has  told  me  all,"  said  Sir  Adrian,  turning  his 
head  to  hide  his  twitching  lip. 

And  then  Jack  Smith's  hand  leaped  out  to  meet  his 
friend's  upon  an  impulse  of  warm  sympathy,  and  the  two 
faced  each  other,  looking  the  words  they  could  not  utter. 

The  year  eighteen  hundred  and  fifteen  which  delivered 
England  at  last  from  the  strain  of  outlandish  conflict  saw 
a  revival  of  official  activity  concerning  matters  of  more 
homely  interest.  The  powers  that  were  awoke  to  the 
necessity,  among  other  things,  of  putting  a  stop  by  the 
most  stringent  means  to  the  constant  and  extensive  leak- 
age in  the  national  revenue  proceeding  from  the  organisa- 
tion of  free  traders  or  smugglers. 

After  twenty  years  of  almost  complete  supineness  on 
the  part  of  the  authorities,  the  first  efforts  made  towards 
a  systematic  "Preventive"  coast  service,  composed  of 
customs,  excise  and  naval  officials  in  proportion  varied 


38o  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

according  to  the  localities,  remained  singularly  futile. 
And  to  the  notorious  inability  of  these  latter  to  cope  with 
the  experience  and  the  devilish  daring  of  the  old  estab- 
lished free  traders,  was  due  no  doubt  to  the  ferocity  of 
the  inquisitional  laws  presently  levelled  against  smug- 
gling and  smugglers — laws  which  ruthlessly  trenched 
upon  almost  every  elementof  the  British  subjects' vaunted 
personal  freedom,  and  which  added,  for  the  time,  several 
new  "  hanging  cases"  to  the  sixty  odd  already  in  exist- 
ence. 

That  part  of  the  indictment  against  Captain  Jack  Smith 
and  the  other  criminals  still  at  large,  which  dealt  with  their 
offences  against  the  smuggling  act,  would  in  later  times 
have  broken  down  infallibly  from  want  of  proper  evidence  : 
not  a  tittle  of  information  was  forthcoming  which  could 
support  examination.  But  a  judge  of  assizes  and  a  jury 
in  1815,  were  not  to  be  baulked  of  the  necessary  victim  by 
mere  circumstantiality  when  certain  offences  against 
society  and  against  His  Majesty  had  to  be  avenged  ;  and 
the  dispensers  of  justice  were  less  concerned  with  strict 
evidence  than  with  the  desirability  of  making  examples. 
Strong  presumption  was  all  that  was  required  to  them  to 
hang  their  man  ;  and  indeed  the  hanging  of  Captain  Jack 
upon  the  other  and  more  serious  counts  than  that  of  un- 
lawful occupation,  was,  as  has  been  said,  a  foregone 
conclusion.  The  triple  charge  of  murder  being  but  too 
fully  corroborated. 

Every  specious  argument  that  could  be  mooted  was  of 
course  put  forward  by  counsel  for  the  defence,  to  show- 
that  the  ^eath  of  the  preventive  men  and  of  Mr.  Landale 
on  Scarthey  Island  and  the  sinking  of  the  revenue  cut- 
ter must  be  looked  upon,  on  the  one  hand,  as  simple  man- 
slaughter in  self-defence,  and  as  the  result  of  accidental 
collision,  on  the  other.  But,  as  every  one  anticipated,  the 
charge  of  the  judge  and  the  finding  of  the  jury  de- 
manded strenuously  the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law.  Be- 
sides this  the  judge  deemed  it  advisable  to  introduce 
into  the  sentence  "one  of  those  already  obsolete  penal- 
ties of  posthumous  degradation,  devised  in  coarser  ages 
for  the  purpose  of  making  an  awful  impression  upon  the 
living. 

"Prisoner  at  the  bar,"  said  his  lordship  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  last  day's  proceedings,  "the  sentence  of  the 


HUSBAND  AND  WIFE  381 

law  which  I  am  about  to  pass  upon  you  and  which  the 
court  awards  is  that  you  now  be  taken  to  the  place  whence 
you  came,  and  from  thence,  on  the  day  appointed,  to  the 
place  of  execution,  there  to  be  hanged  by  the  neck  until 
you  be  dead,  dead,  dead.  And  may  God  have  mercy  on 
your  soul  !  " 

Captain  Jack,  standing  bolt  upright,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  speaker,  calm  as  he  ever  had  been  when  await- 
ing the  enemy's  broadside,  hearkened  without  stirring  a 
muscle.  But  when  the  judge,  after  pronouncing  the  last 
words  with  a  lingering  fulness  and  impressiveness,  con- 
tinued through  the  heavy  silence  :  "  And  that,  at  a  sub- 
sequent time,  your  body,  bound  in  irons,  shall  be  sus- 
pended upon  a  gibbet  erected  as  near  as  possible  to  the 
scenes  of  your  successive  crimes,  and  shall  there  remain 
as  a  lasting  warning  to  wrong-doers  of  the  inevitable  ulti- 
mate end  of  such  an  evil  life  as  yours,"  a  wave  of  crim- 
son flew  to  the  prisoner's  forehead,  upon  which  every 
vein  swelled  ominously. 

He  shot  a  glance  of  fury  at  the  large  flabby  counte- 
nance of  the  righteous  arbiter  of  his  doom,  whilst  his  hands 
closed  themselves  with  an  involuntary  gesture  of  menace. 
Then  the  tide  of  anger  ebbed  ;  a  contemptuous  smile 
parted  his  lips.  And,  bowing  with  an  air  of  light  mock- 
ery to  the  court,  he  turned,  erect  and  easy,  to  follow  his 
turnkey  out  of  the  hall. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 
IN  LANCASTER  CASTLE 

All  that  his  friendship  for  the  condemned  man,  all  that 
his  love  and  pity  for  his  almost  distracted  wife,  could 
suggest,  Sir  Adrian  Landale  had  done  in  London  to  try 
and  avert  Captain  Jack's  doom.  But  it  was  in  vain. 
There  also  old  stories  of  his  peculiar  tenets  and  of  his 
well-known  disaffection  to  the  established  order  of  things, 
had  been  raked  up  against  him.  Unfavourable  compar- 
isons had  been  drawn  between  him  and  Rupert ;  surprise 
and  disapproval  had  been  expressed  at  the  unnatural 
brother,  who  was  displaying  such  energy  to  obtain  mercy 
for  his  brother's  murderer.  Finally  an  influential  person- 
age, whom  Sir  Adrian  had  contrived  to  interest  in  the 
case,  in  memory  of  an  old  friendship  with  his  father,  in- 
formed the  baronet  that  his  persistence  was  viewed  with 
extreme  disfavour  in  the  most  exalted  quarter,  and  that 
His  Royal  Highness  himself  had  pronounced  that  Captain 
Jack  was  a  damned  rascal  and  richly  deserved  his  fate. 

From  the  beginning,  indeed,  the  suppliant  had  been 
without  hope.  Though  he  was  resolved  to  leave  no  stone 
unturned,  no  possibility  untried  in  the  effort  to  save  his 
friend,  well-nigh  the  saddest  part  of  the  whole  business 
to  him  was  the  realisation  that  the  prisoner  had  not  only 
broken  those  custom  laws  (of  which  Sir  Adrian  himself 
disapproved  as  arbitrary)  but  also,  as  he  had  been  warned, 
those  other  laws  upon  which  depend  all  social  order  and 
security  ;  broken  them  so  grievously  that,  whatever 
excuses  the  philosopher  might  find  in  heat  of  blood  and 
stress  of  circumstances,  given  laws  at  all,  the  sentence 
could  not  be  pronounced  otherwise  than  just. 

And  so,  with  an  aching  heart  and  a  wider  horror  than 
ever  of  the  cruel  world  of  men,  and  of  the  injustices  to 
which  legal  justice  leads.  Sir  Adrian  left  London  to  hurry 
back  to  Lancaster  with   all  the   speed  that    post-horses 

382 


IN  LANCASTER  CASTLE  383 

could  muster.  The  time  was  now  drawing  short.  As 
the  traveller  rattled  along  the  stony  streets  of  the  old 
Palatine  town,  and  saw  the  dawn  breaking,  exquisite, 
primrose  tinted,  faintly  beautiful  as  some  dream  vision 
over  the  distant  hills,  his  soul  M^as  gripped  with  an  iron 
clutch.  In  three  more  days  the  gallant  heart,  breaking 
in  the  confinement  of  the  prison  yonder,  would  have 
throbbed  its  last !  And  he  longed,  with  a  desire  futile 
but  none  the  less  intense,  that,  according  to  that  doctrine 
of  Vicarious  Atonement  preached  to  humanity  by  the 
greatest  of  all  examples,  he  could  lay  down  his  own  weary 
and  disappointed  life  for  his  friend. 

Having  breakfasted  at  the  hotel,  less  for  the  necessity 
of  food  than  for  the  sake  of  passing  the  time  till  the  morn- 
ing should  have  worn  to  sufficient  maturity,  he  sought  on 
foot  the  quiet  lodgings  where  he  had  installed  his  wife 
under  Rene's  guard  before  starting  on  his  futile  quest. 
Early  as  the  hour  still  was — seven  had  but  just  rung 
merrily  from  some  chiming  church  clock — the  faithful 
fellow  was  already  astir  and  prompt  to  answer  his  master's 
summons. 

One  look  at  the  latter's  countenance  was  sufficient  to 
confirm  the  servant's  own  worst  forebodings. 

"Ah,  your  honour,  and  is  it  indeed  so.  Ces  gredins  ! 
and  will  they  hang  so  good  a  gentleman.-'  " 

"Hush,  Renny,  not  so  loud,"  cried  the  other  with  an 
anxious  look  at  the  folding-doors,  that  divided  the  little 
sitting-room  from  the  inner  apartment. 

"  Oh,  his  honour  need  have  no  fear.  My  Lady  is  gone, 
gone  to  Pulwick.  His  honour  need  not  disquiet  himself; 
he  can  well  imagine  that  I  would  not  allow  her  to  go  alone 
— when  I  had  been  given  a  trust  so  precious.  No,  no,  the 
old  lady.  Miss  O'Donoghue,  your  honour's  aunt  and  her 
ladyship's,  she  has  heard  of  all  these  terrible  doings,  and 
came  to  Lancaster  to  be  with  My  Lady.  Ma/oi,  I  know 
not  if  she  be  just  the  person  one  would  have  chosen,  for 
she  has  scolded  a  great  deal,  and  is  as  agitated — as  agi- 
tated as  a  young  rabbit.  But,  after  all,  she  loves  the  poor 
young  lady  with  all  her  heart,  and  I  think  she  has  roused 
her  a  little.  His  honour  knows,"  said  the  man,  flushing 
to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  whilst  he  shifted  nervously  from 
one  foot  to  another,  "  that  My  Lady  has  been  much  up- 
set about  the  poor  captain.     After  his  honour  went,  she 


384  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

would  sit,  staring  out  of  the  window  there,  just  where  the 
street  turns  up  to  the  castle,  and  neither  ate  nor  slept,  nor 
talked  to  speak  of.  Of  course,  as  I  told  the  old  Demoi- 
selle, I  knew  it  was  because  My  Lady  had  taken  it  to 
heart  about  the  signal  that  she  made — thinking  to  save 
him — and  which  only  brought  the  gabelous  on  him,  that 
his  honour's  infernal  brother  (God  forgive  me,  and  have 
mercy  on  his  soul)  had  set  to  watch.  And  My  Lady 
liked  to  see  me  coming  and  going,  for  she  sent  me  every 
day  to  the  prison  ;  she  did  not  once  go  herself." 

Sir  Adrian  drew  a  long  breath.  With  the  most  delicate 
intuition  of  his  master's  thoughts,  Rene  avoided  even  a 
glance  at  him  while  he  continued  in  as  natural  a  tone  as 
he  could  assume  : 

"But  the  day  after  the  old  miss  came,  she,  My  Lady, 
told  me  to  find  out  if  he  would  see  her.  He  said  no  ; 
but  that  the  only  kindness  any  one  could  do  him  now 
would  be  lo  bring  him  Mademoiselle  Madeleine,  and  let 
him  speak  to  her  once  more.  And  My  Lady,  when  she 
heard  this,  she  started  off  that  day  with  the  old  one  to 
fetch  Mademoiselle  herself  at  Pulwick.  And  she  left  me 
behind,  your  honour,  for  I  had  a  little  plan  there." 

Rene  faltered  and  a  crestfallen  look  crept  upon  his 
face. 

Sir  Adrian  remembered  how  before  his  departure  for 
London  his  servant  had  cheerily  assured  him  that  Mr. 
the  Captain  would  be  safe  out  of  the  country  long  before 
he  returned,  "  faith  of  him,  Ren^,  who  had  already  been 
in  two  prisons,  and  knew  their  ways,  and  how  to  con- 
trive an  escape,  as  his  honour  well  knew."  A  sad 
smile  parted  his  lips. 

"  And  so  you  failed,  Renny,"  he  said. 

"Ah,  your  honour,  those  Satanic  English  turnkeys  1 
With  a  Frenchman,  the  job  had  been  done  ;  but  it  is  a 
bad  thing  to  be  in  prison  in  England,  His  honour  can 
vouch  I  have  some  brains.  I  had  made  plans — a  hun- 
dred plans,  but  there  was  ever  something  that  did  not 
work.  The  captain,  he  too,  was  eager,  as  your  honour 
can  imagine.  My  faith,  we  thought  and  we  thought, 
and  we  schemed  and  contrived,  and  in  the  end,  there 
was  only  one  thing  to  complete  our  plot — to  bribe  the 
jailer.  Would  your  honour  believe — it  was  only  that  one 
little   difficulty.      My    Lady   had   given    me   a   hundred 


IN  LANCASTER  CASTLE  385 

guineas,  I  had  enough  money,  your  honour  sees.  But 
the  man — I  had  smoked  with  him,  drunk  with  him,  ay, 
and  made  him  drunk  too,  and  I  thought  all  was  going 
well,  but  when  I  hinted  to  him  what  we  wanted — Ah  !  he 
was  a  brute — I  tell  you  I  had  hard  work  to  escape  the 
prison  myself,  and  only  for  my  leaving  him  with  some  of 
the  money,  I  should  now  be  pinched  there  too.  I  hardly 
dare  show  my  face  in  the  place  any  more.  And  my  poor 
Lady  builds  on  the  hope,  and  Mr.  the  Captain — I  had  to 
tell  him,  he  took  it  like  an  angel.  Ah,  the  poor  gentle- 
man !  He  looked  at  me  so  brave  and  kind  !  '  I  am  as 
grateful,  my  poor  friend,  as  if  you  had  done  it,'  said  he, 
'  and  perhaps  it  is  all  for  the  best.'  All  for  the  best — ah, 
your  honour ! " 

Rend  fairly  broke  down  here,  and  wept  on  his  sleeve. 
But  Sir  Adrian's  eyes,  circled  and  worn  with  watching 
and  thought,  shone  dry  with  a  far  deeper  grief,  as,  a  few 
moments  later,  he  passed  along  the  street  towards  the 
walls  of  the  castle. 

There  was  in  those  days  little  difficulty  in  obtaining 
admission  to  a  condemned  prisoner  ;  and,  in  the  rear  of 
the  red-headed,  good-tempered  looking  jailer — the  same, 
he  surmised,  whose  sternness  in  duty  had  baffled  the 
Breton's  simple  wiles — he  stepped  out  of  the  sweet  morn- 
ing sunshine  into  the  long  stone  passages.  The  first 
tainted  breath  of  the  prison  brought  a  chill  to  his  blood 
and  oppression  to  his  lungs,  and  the  gloom  of  the  place 
enveloped  him  like  a  pall. 

With  a  rattle  of  keys  a  door  dismally  creaking  on  its 
hinges  was  swung  back  at  last,  and  the  visitor  was  ushered 
into  the  narrow  cell,  dark  for  all  its  whitewashed  walls, 
where  Captain  Jack  was  spending  his  last  hours  upon 
earth.  The  hinges  groaned  again,  the  door  slammed, 
and  the  key  once  more  grated  in  the  lock.  Sir  Adrian 
was  alone  with  his  friend. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence  ;  the  contraction  of 
the  elder  man's  heart  had  brought  a  giddiness  to  his  brain, 
a  dimness  of  his  eyes,  through  which  he  was  ill  able  to 
distinguish  anything. 

But  then  there  was  a  clank  of  fetters — ah,  what  a  sound 
to  connect  with  lucky  Jack  Smith,  the  gayest,  freest,  and 
most  buoyant  of  men  1     And  a  voice  cried  : 

25 


386  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

"  Adrian  !  " 

It  had  a  joyful  ring-,  well-nigh  the  old  hearty  tones.  It 
struck  Adrian  to  the  soul. 

He  could  have  borne,  he  thought,  to  find  his  friend  a 
broken  man,  changed  out  of  all  recognition,  crushed  by 
his  misfortunes  ;  but  to  find  him  the  same,  a  little  pale, 
indeed,  and  thinner,  with  a  steady  earnestness  in  the  sea- 
blue  eyes  instead  of  the  old  dancing-light,  but  still  gallant 
and  undaunted,  still  radiating  vigorous  life  and  breezy 
energy  by  his  very  presence,  this  was  a  cruelty  of  fate 
which  seemed  unendurable. 

"I  declare,"  the  prisoner  had  continued,  "I  declare  I 
thought  you  were  only  the  incorruptible  jailer  taking  his 
morning  survey.  They  are  desperately  careful  of  me, 
Adrian,  and  watch  me  with  maternal  solicitude  lest  I 
should  strangle  myself  with  my  chains,  these  pretty 
bracelets  which  I  have  had  to  wear  ever  since  poor  Renny 
was  found  out,  or  swallow  my  pillow — dash  me  !  it's 
small  enough — and  spoil  the  pretty  show  for  Saturday  ! 
Why,  why,  Adrian,  old  friend  ?  " 

There  was  a  sudden  change  of  tone  to  the  warmest 
concern,  for  Sir  Adrian  had  staggered  and  would  have 
fallen  had  not  Jack,  as  nimbly  as  his  fetters  would  allow 
him,  sprung  to  support  him  and  conduct  him  to  the  bed. 

A  shaft  of  light  struck  through  the  tiny  barred  window 
on  to  the  elder  man"s  face,  and  showed  it  against  the 
surrounding  darkness  deathly  white  and  wet  with  an- 
guish. 

"  I  have  done  all  I  could,  Hubert,"  he  murmured,  in 
an  extinguished  voice,  "  but  to  no  avail." 

"  Ay,  man,  I  guessed  as  much.  But  never  fret  for  me, 
Adrian  :  I  have  looked  death  too  often  in  the  face  to  play 
the  poltroon,  now.  I  don't  say  it's  the  end  I  should  have 
chosen  for  myself;  but  it  is  inevitable,  and  there  is  noth- 
ing, as  you  know,  my  friend,  that  a  man  cannot  face  if 
he  knows  it  must  be  faced." 

The  grasp  of  his  strong  warm  hands,  all  manacled  as 
they  were,  upon  the  other's  nerveless  clammy  fingers, 
sent,  more  than  the  words,  something  of  the  speaker's 
own  courage  to  his  friend's  wrung  heart.  And  yet  that 
very  courage  was  an  added  torment. 

That  from  a  community,  so  full  of  evil,  feeble,  harmful 
wretches,  this  noble  soul,  no  matter  how  it  had  sinned. 


IN  LANCASTER  CASTLE  387 

should  be  banished  at  the  bidding- of  justice — what  mock- 
ery of  right  was  this  ?  The  world  was  out  of  joint  indeed. 
He  groaned  aloud. 

"Nay,  I'll  have  none  of  it,"  cried  Jack.  "Our  last 
talk.  Adrian,  must  not  be  spoiled  by  futile  regrets.  Yes, 
our  last  talk  it  is  to  be,  for  " — the  prisoner's  face  became 
transfigured  with  a  tenderness  so  exquisite  that  Adrian 
staredat  its  beauty,  amazed — "  I  have  begged  her,  Made- 
leine, to  come  and  see  me  once  more.  I  think  she  can 
be  here  to-day,  at  latest  to-morrow.  And  after  that  I 
would  not  see  any  of  those  I  love  again,  that  I  may  fit 
myself  to  meet  my  God." 

He  spoke  with  the  utmost  simplicity.  Adrian  bowed 
his  head  silently.  Then  averting  his  eyes,  he  said  :  "My 
wife  has  gone  to  Pulvvick  to  fetch  her." 

Captain  Jack  crimsoned.  "That  is  kind,  "he  answered, 
in  a  low  voice  ;  and,  after  a  pause,  pursued  :  "  I  hope 
you  do  not  think  it  wrong  of  me  to  wish  to  see  her.  But 
you  may  trust  me.  I  shall  distress  her  as  little  as  is  pos- 
sible in  the  circumstances.  It  is  not,  as  you  can  fancy" 
— his  face  flushed  again  as  he  spoke — "to  indulge  in  a 
pathetic  parting  scene.or  beg  from  her  sweet  lips  one  last 
kiss — that  would  be  too  grossly  selfish,  and  hov/ever  this 
poor  body  of  mine,  so  soon  to  be  carrion,  may  yearn  to 
hold  her  once  more  closely,  these  lips,  so  soon  to  touch 
death,  shall  touch  hers  no  more.  I  have  risen  so  far 
above  this  earthliness,  that  in  so  many  hours  I  am  to 
shake  off  for  ever,  that  I  can  trust  myself  to  meet  her 
soul  to  soul.  She  must  believe  me  now,  and  I  would  tell 
her,  Adrian,  that  my  deceit  was  not  premeditated,  and 
that  the  man  she  once  honoured  with  her  love  is  not  the 
base  wretch  she  deems.  I  think  it  may  comfort  her.  If 
she  does  mourn  for  me  at  all — she  has  so  proud  a  spirit, 
my  princess,  as  I  used  to  call  her — it  may  comfort  her  to 
know  that  I  was  not  all  unworthy  of  the  love  she  once 
gave  me,  of  the  tears  she  may  yet  give  to  its  memory 
and  mine." 

Sir  Adrian  pressed  his  hand,  but  again  could  not  speak, 
and  Captain  Jack  went  on  : 

"You  will  give  her  a  happy  home,  will  you  not,  till 
she  has  one  of  her  own  ?  You  and  your  old  dragon  of 
an  aunt,  whose  bark  is  so  much  worse  than  her  bite,  will 
watch  and  guard  her.     Ah,  poor  old  lady  I  she  is  one  of 


388  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

those  that  will  not  weep  for  Jack  Smith,  eh,  Adrian  ? 
Well,  well,  I  have  had  a  happy  life,  barring  one  or  two 
hard  raps  of  fate,  and  when  only  I  have  seen  Madeleine 
once  more,  I'll  feel  all  taut  for  the  port,  though  the  pas- 
sage there  be  a  rough  one." 

Sir  Adrian  turned  his  gaze  with  astonishment  upon  him. 
The  sailor  read  his  thoughts  : 

"  Don't  think,"  he  said,  while  a  sudden  shadow  crossed 
his  face,  "don't  think  that  I  don't  realise  my  position, 
that  I  have  not  had  to  fight  my  battle.  In  the  beginning 
I  had  hopes  ;  never  in  the  success  of  your  mission,  but, 
absurd  as  it  was,  in  Renny's  scheme.  The  good  fellow's 
own  hopefulness  was  infectious,  I  believe.  And  when 
that  fell  through — well  then,  man,  I  just  had  to  make  up 
my  mind  to  what  was  to  be.  It  was  a  battle,  as  I  told 
you.  I  have  been  in  danger  of  death  many  a  time  upon 
the  brave  old  S/.  Nicholas,  and  my  Cormorant — death  from 
the  salt  sea,  from  musket  ball  and  cannon  shot,  fearful 
deaths  of  mangling  and  hacking.  But  death  on  the  gal- 
lows, the  shameful  death  of  the  criminal  ;  to  be  hung ;  to 
be  executed — Pah  !  Ay  !  it  was  a  battle — two  nights  and 
one  day  I  fought  it.  And  I  tell  you,  'tis  a  hard  thing  to 
bring  the  living  flesh  and  the  leaping  blood  to  submit  to 
such  as  that.  At  first  I  thought  indeed,  it  could  not  be 
borne,  and  I  must  reckon  upon  your  or  Renny's  friendship 
for  a  secret  speed.  I  should  have  had  the  pluck  to  starve 
myself  if  need  be,  only  I  am  so  damned  strong  and 
healthy,  I  feared  it  could  not  have  been  managed  in  the 
time.  At  any  rate,  I  could  have  dashed  my  brains  out 
against  the  wall — but  I  see  it  otherwise  now.  The 
prison  chaplain,  a  good  man,  Adrian,  has  made  me  real- 
ise that  it  would  be  cowardly,  that  I  should  accept  my 
sentence  as  atonement,  as  deserved — I  have  deserved  to 
die." 

It  had  been  Sir  Adrian's  own  thought  ;  but  he  broke 
out  now  in  inarticulate  protest.  It  seemed  too  gross,  too 
monstrous. 

"Yes,  Adrian,  I  have.  You  warned  me,  good  friend, 
in  your  peaceful  room — ah,  how  long  ago  it  seems  now  ! 
that  night,  when  all  that  could  make  life  beautiful  lay  to 
my  hand  for  the  taking.  Oh,  man,  why  did  I  not  heed 
you  !  You  warned  me  :  he  who  breaks  one  law  will  end 
by  breaking  many.      You  were  right.      See  the  harm  I 


IN  LANCASTER  CASTLE  389 

wreaked — those  poor  fellows,  who  were  but  doing  their 
duty  bravely,  whose  lives  I  sacrificed  without  remorse  ! 
Your  brother,  too,  whose  soul,  with  the  most  deliberate 
vindictiveness,  I  sent  before  its  Maker,  without  an  in- 
stant's preparation  !  A  guilty  soul  it  was  ;  for  he  hounded 
me  down,  one  would  almost  think  for  the  sport  of  it.  .  .  . 
God  !  when  I  think  that,  but  for  him,  for  his  wanton  in- 
terference— but  there,  the  devils  are  loose  again  !  I  must 
not  think  on  him.  Do  I  not  deserve  my  fate,  if  the  Bible 
law  be  right  ?  '  He  who  sheds  blood,  his  blood  shall  be 
shed.'  Never  was  sentence  more  just.  I  have  sinned,  I 
have  repented  ;  I  am  now  ready  to  atone.  I  believe  the 
sacrifice  will  be  accepted." 

He  laid  his  hand,  for  a  minute,  upon  the  Bible  on  the 
table,  with  a  significant  gesture. 

But  Sir  Adrian,  the  philosopher,  though  he  could  find 
no  words  to  impeach  the  logic  of  his  friend's  reasoning, 
and  was  all  astir  with  admiration  for  a  resignation  as 
perfect  as  either  Christian  or  Stoic  could  desire,  found  his 
soul  rising  in  tumultuous  rebellion  against  the  hideous 
decree.  The  longing  that  had  beset  him  in  the  dawn, 
now  seized  upon  him  with  a  new  passion,  and  the  cry 
escaped  his  lips  almost  unwittingly  : 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  die  for  you  !  " 

"No,  no,"  said  Jack,  with  his  sweet  smile,  "your  life 
is  too  valuable,  too  precious  to  the  world.  Adrian,  be- 
lieve me,  you  can  still  do  much  good  with  it.  And  I 
know  you  will  be  happy  yet." 

It  was  the  only  allusion  he  had  made  to  his  friend's 
more  personal  sorrows.  Before  the  latter  had  time  to 
reply,  he  hastened  to  proceed  : 

"And  now  to  business.  All  the  gold  entrusted  to  me 
lies  at  Scarthey  and,  faith,  I  believe  it  lies  as  weightily 
on  my  mind  as  if  it  was  all  stored  there  instead  !  Renny 
knows  the  secret  hiding-place.  Will  you  engage  to  re- 
store it  to  its  owners,  in  all  privacy  ?  This  is  a  terribly 
arduous  undertaking,  Adrian,  and  it  is  asking  much  of 
your  friendship  ;  but  if  I  know  you,  not  too  much.  And 
it  will  enable  my  poor  bones  to  lie  at  rest,  or  rather,"  with 
a  rueful  laugh,  ' '  hang  at  rest  on  their  gibbet ;  for  you 
know  I  am  to  be  set  up  as  a  warning  to  other  fools,  like 
a  rat  on  a  barn  door.  I  have,  by  the  kindness  of  the 
chaplain,  been  able  to  write  out  a   full  schedule  of  the 


390  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

different  sums,  and  to  whom  they  are  due.  He  has  taken 
charge  of  the  closed  packet  directed  to  you,  and  will  give 
it  to  you  intact,  I  feel  sure.  He  is  a  man  of  honour,  and 
I  trust  him  to  respect   the   confidence  I   have   placed  in 

him Egad  !   the  poor  old   boys  will  be  right  glad 

to  get  their  coin  back  in  safety.  A  couple  of  them  have 
been  up  here  already,  to  interview  me,  in  fear  and  trem- 
bling. They  were  hard  set  to  credit  me  when  I  assured 
them  that  they  would  be  no  losers  in  the  end,  after  all 
— barring  the  waiting.      You  see,  I  counted  upon  you." 

"I  shall  never  rest  until    it   is  done,"  said  Sir  Adrian, 
simply.      And  Captain  Jack-as  simply  answered  :    "  Thank 
you.     Among  the    treasure  there    is    also  ^^10,000  of   my 
own  ;  the  rest  of  my  laboriously  acquired  fortime   is   for- 
feit to  the  Crown,  as   you   know — much  good  may  it   do 
it  !     But  this  little  hoard  I  give  to  you.      You  do  not  want 
it,  of  course,  and  therefore  it  is  only  to  be  yours  that  you 
may  administrate   it   in  accordance    to   my  wishes.     An- 
other charge — but  I  make   no   apology.      I   wish  you   to 
divide  it  in  three  equal  shares  :   two  to   be  employed  as 
you  see  best,  for  the  widows  and  families  of  those  poor 
fellows  of  the  preventive  service,  victims  of  my  venture  ; 
the  third,  as  well  as  my  beautiful   Peregrine,  I   leave  to 
the  mate  and  men  who  served    me   so  faithfully.     They 
have  fled  with  her,  and   must    avoid   England   for  some 
time.      But  Renny  will   contrive    to    hear    of  them  ;  they 
are  bound  to  return  in  secret  for  tidings,  and  I  should  like 
to  feel   that  the  misery  I  have    left  behind  me  may  be 

mitigated And  now,  dear  Adrian,  that  is  all.     The 

man  outside  grows  impatient.  I  hear  him  shuffling  his 
keys.  Hark  !  there  he  knocks  ;  the  fellow  has  a  certain 
rude  feeling  for  me.  An  honest  fellow.  Dear  Adrian, 
good-bye." 

"  My  God  !  this  is  hard — is  there  nothing  else — nothing 
— can  indeed  all  my  friendship  be  of  no  further  help  ? — 
Hubert !  " 

"Hush,  hush,"  cried  Jack  Smith  hastily,  "Adrian,  you 
alone  of  all  living  beings  now  know  me  by  that  name. 
Never  let  it  cross  your  lips  again.  I  could  not  die  in  peace 
were  it  not  for  the  thought  that  I  bring  no  discredit  upon 
it.  My  mother  believes  me  dead — God  in  His  mercy  has 
spared  me  the  crowning  misery  of  bringing  shame  to  her 
white  hairs — shame  to  the  old  race.     Hubert  Cochrane 


IN  LANCASTER  CASTLE  391 

died  ten  years  ago.  Jack  Smith  alone  it  is  that  dies  by 
the  hangman's  hand.  One  other,"  his  voice  softened  and 
the  hard  look  of  pain  left  his  face,  "  one  other  shall  hear 
the  secret  besides  you — but  I  know  she  will  never  speak  of 
it,  even  to  you — and  such  is  my  wish." 

It  was  the  pride  of  race  at  its  last  and  highest  ex- 
pression. 

There  was  the  sound,  without,  of  the  key  in  the  lock. 

"One  last  word — if  you  love  me,  nay,  as  you  love  me 
— do  not  be  there  on  Saturday  !  This  parting  with  you — 
the  good-bye  to  her — that  is  my  death.  Afterwards  what 
happens  to  this  flesh,"  he  struck  at  himself  with  his 
chained  hands,  "matters no  more  than  what  will  happen 
to  the  soulless  corpse.  I  know  you  would  come  to  help 
me  with  the  feeling  of  your  love,  your  presence — but  do 
not — do  not — and  now  good-bye  !  " 

Adrian  seized  his  friend  by  the  hands  with  a  despairing 
grip,  the  door  rolled  back  with  its  dismal  screech. 

The  prisoner  smiled  at  him  with  tender  eyes.  This 
man  whom,  all  unwillingly  he  had  robbed  of  his  wife's 
heart,  was  broken  with  grief  that  he  could  not  save  the 
life  that  had  brought  him  misery.  Here  was  a  friend  to 
be  proud  of,  even  at  the  gate  of  death  ! 

"  God  be  with  you,  dear  Adrian  !  God  bless  you  and 
your  household,  and  your  children,  and  your  children's 
children  !  Hear  my  last  words  :  From  viy  death  will  he 
horn  your  happiness,  and  if  its  growth  he  slow,  yet  it  will 
wax  strong  and  sure  as  the  years  go  hy." 

The  words  broke  from  him  with  prophetic  solemnity  ; 
their  hands  fell  apart,  and  Adrian,  led  by  the  jailer, 
stumbled  forth  blindly.  Jack  Smith  stood  erect,  still 
smiling,  watching  them  :  were  Adrian  to  turn  he  should 
find  no  weakness,  no  faltering  for  the  final  remembrance. 

But  Adrian  did  not  turn.  And  the  door  closed,  closed 
upon  hope  and  happiness  and  life,  shut  in  shame  and 
death.  Out  yonder,  with  Adrian,  was  the  fresh  bright 
world,  the  sea,  the  sunshine,  the  dear  ones  ;  here  the 
prison  smells,  the  gloom,  the  constraint,  the  inflicted 
dreadful  death.  All  his  hard-won  calm  fled  from  him  ; 
all  his  youth,  his  immense  vitality  woke  lip  and  cried 
out  in  him  again.  He  raised  his  hands  and  pulled  fiercely 
at  his  collar  as  if  already  the  rope  were  round  his  neck 
strangling  him.     His  blood  hammered  in  his  brain.     God 


392  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

— God — it  was  impossible — it  could  not  be — it  was  a 
dream  ! 

Beyond,  from  far  distant  in  the  street  came  the  cry  of 
a  little  child  : 

"Da-da— daddy." 

The  prisoner  threw  up  his  arms  and  then  fell  upon  his 
face  upon  the  bed,  torn  by  sobs. 

Yes,  Adrian  would  have  children  ;  but  Hubert  Coch- 
rane, who,  from  the  beautiful  young  brood  that  was  to 
have  sprung  from  his  loins  would  have  grafted  on  the  old 
stock  a  fresh  and  noble  tree,  he  was  to  pass  barren  out 
of  life  and  leave  no  trace  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
THE  ONE    HE    LOVED  AND  THE    ONE  WHO  LOVED  HIM 

On  the  evening  of  the  previous  day  Lady  Landale  and 
her  Aunt  had  arrived  at  Pulwick.  The  drive  had  been  a 
dismal  one  to  poor  Miss  O'Donoghue.  Neither  her  angry 
expostulations,  nor  her  tender  remonstrances,  nor  her 
attempts  at  consolation  could  succeed  in  drawing  a  con- 
nected sentence  from  Molly,  who,  with  a  fever  spot  of 
red  upon  each  cheek  only  roused  herself  from  the  depth 
of  thought  in  which  she  seemed  plunged  to  urge  the 
coachman  to  greater  speed.  Miss  O'Donoghue  tried  the 
whole  gamut  of  her  art  in  vain,  and  was  obliged  at  last 
to  desist  from  sheer  weariness  and  in  much  anxiety. 

Madeleine  and  Sophia  were  seated  by  the  fireside  in  the 
library  when  the  unexpected  travellers  came  in  upon 
them.  Sophia,  in  the  blackest  of  black  weeds,  started 
guiltily  up  from  the  volume  of  "  The  Corsair,"  in  which 
she  had  been  plunged,  while  Madeleine,  without  mani- 
festing any  surprise,  rose  placidly,  laid  aside  her  needle- 
work— a  coarse  flannel  frock,  evidently  destined  for 
charity — and  bestowed  upon  her  sister  and  aunt  an  affec- 
tionate though  unexpansive  embrace. 

She  had  grown  somewhat  thinner  and  more  thoughtful- 
looking  since  Molly  and  she  had  last  met,  on  that  fatal 
15th  of  March,  but  otherwise  was  unchanged  in  her  serene 
beauty.  Molly  clutched  her  wrist  with  a  burning  hand, 
and,  paying  not  the  slightest  attention  to  the  other  two, 
nor  condescending  to  any  preamble,  began  at  once,  in 
hurried  words  to  explain  her  mission. 

"  He  has  asked  for  you,  Madeleine,"  she  cried,  her  eyes 
flaming  with  unnatural  brilliance  as  they  sought  her  sis- 
ter's mild  gaze.  "  He  has  asked  for  you,  I  will  take  you 
back  with  me,  to-morrow,  not  later  than  to-morrow. 
Don't  you  understand  ?  "  shaking  her  impatiently  as  she 
held  her,  "he  is  in  prison,  condemned   to  death,  he  has 

393 


394  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

asked  for  you,  he  wants  to  see  you.     On  Saturday — on 

Saturday "     Something  clicked  in  her  throat,  and  she 

raised  her  hand  to  it  with  an  uneasy  gesture,  one  that 
those  who  surrounded  her  had  grown  curiously  familiar 
with  of  late. 

Madeleine  drew  away  from  her  at  this  address,  the 
whole  fair  calm  of  her  countenance  troubled  like  a  placid 
pool  by  the  casting  of  a  stone.  Clasping  her  hands  and 
looking  down  :  "  I  saw  that  the  unfortunate  man  was 
condemned,"  she  said.  *'I  have  prayed  for  him  daily, 
I  trust  he  repents.  I  am  truly  sorry  for  him.  From  my 
heart  I  forgive   him  the  deception  he  practised  upon  me. 

But "  a  slight  shudder  shook   her,   '*I    could   not   see 

him  again — surely  you  could  not  wish  it  of  me. " 

She  spoke  with  such  extreme  gentleness  that  for  a 
minute  the  woman  before  her,  in  the  seething  turmoil  of 
her  soul,  failed  to  grasp  the  meaning  of  her  words. 

"You  could  not  go  !  "  she  repeated  in  a  bewildered 
way,  "  I  could  not  wish  it  of  you — !  "  then  with  a  sort  of 
shriek  which  drew  Tanty  and  Miss  Sophia  hurriedly  to- 
wards her,  "  Don't  you  understand — on  Saturday — if  it 
all  fails,  they  will  hang  him.?" 

"  A-ah  !  "  exclaimed  Madeleine  with  a  movement  as  if 
to  ward  off  the  sound — the  cry,  the  gesture  expressive, 
not  of  grief,  but  of  shrinking  repugnance.  But  after  a 
second,  controlling  herself : 

"And  what  should  that  be  now,  sister,  to  you  or  to 
me .''  "  she  said  haughtily. 

Lady  Landale  clapped  her  hands  together. 

"And  this  is  the  woman  he  loves  !  "  she  cried  with  a 
shrill  laugh.  And  she  staggered,  and  sank  back  upon  a 
chair  in  an  attitude  of  utter  prostration. 

"Molly,  Molly,"  exclaimed  her  sister  reprovingly, 
while  she  glanced  in  much  distress  at  Miss  O'Donoghue, 
"you  are  not  yourself;  you  do  not  know  what  you  are 
saying." 

"  Remember,"  interposed  Sophia  in  tragic  tones,  "that 
you  are  speaking  of  the  murderer  of  my  beloved  brother. " 
Then  she  dissolved  in  tears,  and  was  obliged  to  hide  her 
countenance  in  the  folds  of  a  vast  pocket-handkerchief. 

"  Killing  vermin  is  not  murder  !  "  cried  Molly  fiercely, 
awakening  from  her  torpor. 

Miss  O'Donoghue,  who  in  the  most  unwonted  silence 


THE  ONE  HE  LOVED  395 

had  been  watching  the  scene  with  her  shrewd  eyes,  here 
seized  the  horrified  Sophia  by  the  elbow  and  trundled 
her,  with  a  great  deal  of  energy  and  determination,  to  the 
door. 

"  Get  out  of  this,  you  foolish  creature,"  she  said  in  a 
stern  whisper,  "and  don't  attempt  to  show  your  nose  here 
again  till  I  give  it  leave  to  walk  in  !  "  Then  returning  to 
the  sisters,  and  looking  from  Molly's  haggard,  distracted 
face  to  Madeleine's  pale  one:  "  If  you  take  my  advice, 
my  dear,"  she  said,  a  little  drily,  to  the  latter,  "  you  will 
not  make  so  many  bones  about  going  to  see  that  poor  lad 
in  the  prison,  and  you'll  stop  wrangling  with  your  sister, 
for  she  is  just  not  able  to  bear  it.  We  shall  start  to- 
morrow, Molly,"  turning  to  Lady  Landale,  and  speaking 
in  the  tone  of  one  addressing  a  sick  child,  "and  Made- 
leine will  be  quite  ready  as  early  as  you  wish. " 

"  My  dear  aunt,"  said  Madeleine,  growing  white  to  the 
lips,  "I  am  very  sorry  if  Molly  is  ill,  but  you  are  quite 
mistaken  if  you  think  I  can  yield  to  her  wishes  in  this 
matter.      I  could  not  go  ;  I  could  not ;  it  is  impossible  !  " 

"Hear  her,"  cried  the  other,  starting  from  her  seat. 
"Oh,  what  are  you  made  of?  Is  it  water  that  runs  in 
your  veins  ?  you  that  he  loves  " — her  voice  broke  into  a 
wail — "you  who  ought  to  be  so  proud  to  know  he  loves 
you  even  though  your  heart  be  broken  !  You  refuse  to 
go  to  him,  refuse  his  last  request !  .  .  .  .  Come  to  the 
light,"  she  went  on,  seizing  the  girl's  wrists  again  ;  "let 
me  look  at  you.  Bah  !  you  never  loved  him.  You  don't 
even  understand  what  it  is  to  love  ....  But  what  could 
one  expect  from  you,  who  abandoned  him  in  the  moment 
of  danger.  You  are  afraid  ;  afraid  of  the  painful  scene, 
the  discomfort,  the  sight  of  the  prison,  of  his  beautiful 
face  worn  and  changed — afraid  of  the  discredit.  Oh  !  I 
know  you,  I  know  you.  But  mind  you,  Madeleine  de 
Savenaye,  he  wishes  to  see  you,  and  I  swore  you  would 
go  to  him,  and  you  shall  go,  if  I  have  to  drag  you  with 
these  hands  of  mine." 

Her  grip  was  so  fierce,  her  eyes  so  savage,  the  words 
so  strange,  that  Madeleine  screamed  faintly,  "She  is 
mad  !  "  and  was  amazed  that  Miss  O'Donoghue  did  not 
rush  to  the  rescue  ! 

But  Miss  O'Donoghue,  peering  at  her  from  the  depths 
of  her  arm-chair,    merely  said  snappishly:    "Ah,  child, 


396  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

can't  you  say  you  will  go,  and  have  done  !  Oughtn't 
you  to  be  ashamed  to  be  so  hard-hearted  ?  "  and  mopped 
her  perspiring  and  agitated  countenance  with  her  kerchief. 
Then  upon  the  girl's  bewildered  mind  dawned  a  glimmer 
of  the  truth  ;  and,  blushing  to  the  roots  ot  her  hair,  she 
looked  at  her  sister  with  a  growing  horror. 

"Oh,  Molly,  Molly!"  she  said  again,  with  a  sort  of 
groan. 

"Will  you  go?"  cried  Molly  from  between  her  set 
teeth. 

Again  the  girl  shuddered. 

"  Less  than  ever — now,"  she  murmured.  And  as  Molly 
threw  her  from  her,  almost  with  violence,  she  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands  and  fell,  weeping  bitter  tears, 
upon  the  couch  behind  her. 

Lady  Landale,  with  great  steps,  stormed  up  and  down 
the  room,  her  eyes  fixed  on  space,  her  lips  moving  ;  now 
and  again  a  word  escaped  her  then,  sometimes  hurled  at 
her  sister,  sometimes  only  in  desperate  communing  with 
herself. 

"  Base,  cowardly,  mean  !  Oh,  my  God,  cruel — cruel  I 
To  go  back  without  her." 

After  a  little,  with  a  sudden  change  of  mood,  she  halted 
and  stood  a  while,  as  if  in  deep  reflection,  holding  her 
hand  to  her  head,  then  crossing  the  room  hurriedly, 
she  knelt  down,  and  flung  her  arms  round  the  weeping 
figure. 

"Ma  petite  Madeleine,"  she  said  in  a  voice  of  the  most 
piteous  pleading,  '  *  thou  and  I,  we  were  always  good 
friends  ;  thou  canst  not  have  the  heart  to  be  so  cruel  to 
me  now.  See,  my  darling,  he  must  die,  they  say — oh, 
Madeleine,  Madeleine  !  And  he  asked  for  you.  The 
one  thing,  he  told  Ren^,  the  only  thing  we  could  do  for 
him  on  earth  was  to  let  him  see  you  once  more.  My 
little  sister,  you  cannot  refuse  :  he  loves  you.  What  has 
he  done  to  offend  you?  Your  pride  cannot  forgive  him 
for  being  what  he  is,  I  suppose  ;  yet  such  as  he  is  you 
should  be  proud  of  him.  He  is  too  noble,  too  straight- 
forward to  have  intentionally  deceived  you.  If  he  did 
wrong,  it  was  for  love  of  you.     Madeleine,  Madeleine  !  " 

Her  tones  trailed  away  into  a  moan. 

Miss    O'Donoghue    sobbed    loudly   from    her   corner. 
Madeleine,   who  had  looked  at  her  sister  at  first  with 


THE  ONE  HE  LOVED  397 

repulsion,  seemed  moved  ;  she  placed  her  hands  upon  her 
shoulders,  and  gazed  sadly  into  the  flushed  face. 

' '  My  poor  Molly, "  she  said  hesitatingly,  ' '  this  is  dread- 
ful!  But  I  too — I  too  was  led  into  deceit,  into  folly." 
She  blushed  painfully.  "  I  would  not  blame  you  ;  it  was 
not  your  fault  that  you  were  carried  away  in  his  ship. 
You  went  only  for  my  sake  :  I  cannot  forget  that.  Yet 
that  he  should  have  this  unhappy  power  over  you  too, 
you  with  your  good  husband,  you  a  married  woman,  oh, 
my  poor  sister,  it  is  terrible  !  He  is  a  wicked  man  ;  I 
pray  that  he  may  yet  repent." 

"Heavens,"  interrupted  Molly,  her  passion  up  in  arms 
again,  loosening  as  she  spoke  her  clasp  upon  her  sister, 
and  rising  to  her  feet  to  look  down  on  her  with  withering 
scorn,  "have  I  not  made  myself  clear?  Are  you  deaf, 
stupid,  as  well  as  heartless  ?  It  is  you — you— jyou  he 
loves,  jyou  he  wants.  What  am  /  to  him  ?  "  with  a  curious 
sob,  half  of  laughter,  half  of  anguish.  "Your  pious 
fears  are  quite  unfounded  as  far  as  he  is  concerned — the 
wicked  man,  as  you  call  him  !  Oh,  he  spurns  my  love 
with  as  much  horror  as  even  you  could  wish  ! " 

"Molly  !  " 

"Ay — Molly,  and  Molly — how  shocked  you  are  !  Yes, 
I  love  him,  I  don't  care  who  hears  it.  I  love  him — 
Adrian  knows — he  is  not  as  virtuous  as  you,  evidently, 
for  Adrian  pities  me.  He  is  doing  all  he  can,  though 
they  say  it  is  in  vain,  to  get  a  reprieve  for  him — though 
I  do  love  him  !  While  you — you  are  too  good,  too  im- 
maculate even  to  soil  your  dainty  foot  upon  the  floor  of 
his  prison,  that  floor  that  I  could  kiss  because  his  shoe 
has  trod  it.  But  it  is  impossible  !  no  human  being  could 
be  so  hard,  least  of  all  you,  whom  I  have  seen  turn  sick 
at  the  sight  of  a  dead  worm — Madeleine !  " 

Crouching  down  in  the  former  imploring  manner,  while 
her  breast  heaved  with  dry  tearless  sobs  :  "  It  cannot 
hurt  you,  you  who  loved  him."  And  then  with  the  old 
pitiful  cry,  "it  is  the  only  thing  he  wants,  and  he  loves 
you." 

Madeleine  disengaged  herself  from  the  clinging  hands 
with  a  gesture  almost  of  disgust. 

"Listen  to  me,"  she  said,  after  a  pause,  "try  and 
compose  yourself  and  understand.  All  this  month  I  have 
had  time  to  think,  to  realise,  to  pray.      I  have  seen  what 


398  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

the  world  is  worth,  that  it  is  full  of  horror,  of  sin,  of 
trouble,  of  dreadful  dissensions — that  its  sorrow  far  out- 
weighs its  happiness.  I  have  suffered,"  her  pretty  lips 
quivered  an  instant,  but  she  hardened  herself  and  went 
on,  ' '  but  it  is  better  so — it  was  God's  will,  it  was  to  show 
me  where  to  find  real  comfort,  the  true  peace.  I  have 
quite  made  up  my  mind.  I  was  only  waiting  to  see  you 
again  and  tell  you — next  week  I  am  going  back  to  the 
convent  for  ever.  Oh,  why  did  we  leave  it,  Molly,  why 
did  we  leave  it !  "  She  broke  down,  and  the  tears  gushed 
from  her  eyes. 

Lady  Landale  had  listened  in  silence. 

"  Well — is  that  all  ?  "  she  said  impatiently,  when  her 
sister  ceased  speaking,  while  in  the  background  Tanty 
groaned  out  a  protest,  and  bewailed  that  she  was  alive  to 
see  the  day.  "  What  does  it  matter  what  you  do  after- 
wards— you  can  go  to  the  convent — go  where  you  will 
then  ;  but  what  has  that  to  say  to  your  visit  to  him  now  }  " 

"  I  have  done  with  all  human  love,"  said  Madeleine 
solemnly,  crossing  her  hands  on  her  breast,  and  looking 
upward  with  inspired  eyes.  "  I  did  love  this  man  once," 
she  answered,  hardening  herself  to  speak  firmly,  though 
again  her  lips  quivered — ''  he  himself  killed  that  love  by 
his  own  doing.  I  trusted  him  ;  he  betrayed  that  trust  ; 
he  would  have  betrayed  me,  but  that  I  have  forgiven,  it 
is  past  and  done  with.  But  to  go  and  see  him  now,  to 
stir  up  in  my  heart,  not  the  old  love,  it  could  not  be,  but 
agitation,  sorrow — to  disturb  this  quietness  of  soul,  this 
calm  which  God  has  given  me  at  last  after  so  much 
prayer  and  struggle — no,  no — it  would  not  be  right,  it 
cannot  be  !  Moreover,  if  I  would,  I  could  not,  indeed  I 
could  not.  The  very  thought  of  it  all,  the  disgrace,  that 
place  of  sin  and  shame,  of  him  in  chains,  condemned — a 
criminal — a  murderer  !...." 

A  nervous  shudder  shook  her  from  head  to  foot,  she 
seemed  in  truth  to  sicken  and  grow  faint,  like  one  forced 
to  face  some  hideous  nauseating  spectacle.  "  As  for 
him,"  she  went  on  in  low,  feeble  tones,  "  it  will  be  the 
best  too.  God  knows  I  forgive  him,  that  I  am  sorry  for 
him,  that  I  regret  his  terrible  fate.  But  I  feel  it  would  be 
worse  for  him  to  see  me — if  he  must  die,  it  would  be 
wrong  to  distract  him  from  his  last  preparations.  And  it 
would  only  be  a  useless  pain  to  him,  for  I  could  not  pre- 


THE  ONE  HE  LOVED  399 

tend — he  would  see  that  I  despise  him.  I  thought  I  loved 
a  noble  gentleman,  not  one  who  was  even  then  playing 
with  crime  and  cheating." 

The  faint  passionless  voice  had  hardly  ceased  before, 
with  a  loud  cry,  Molly  sprang  at  her  sister  as  if  she  would 
have  strangled  her. 

"  Oh,  unnatural  wretch,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  are  not 
fit  to  live  !  " 

Tanty  rushed  forward  and  dragged  the  infuriated  woman 
away. 

Madeleine  rose  up  stiffly — swayed  a  moment  as  she 
stood — and  then  fell  unconscious  to  the  ground. 

Next  day  in  the  dav/n  Lady  Landale  came  into  her 
sister's  bedroom.  Her  circled  eyes,  her  drawn  face  be- 
speaking a  sleepless  night. 

Madeleine  was  lying,  beautiful  and  white,  like  a  broken 
lily,  in  the  dim  light  of  the  lamp  ;  Sophia,  an  unlovely 
spectacle  in  curl  papers,  wizened  and  red-eyed  from  her 
night's  watch,  looked  up  warningly  from  the  arm-chair 
beside  her.  But  Molly  went  unhesitatingly  to  the  window, 
pulled  the  curtains,  unbarred  the  shutters,  and  then 
walked  over  to  the  bed. 

As  she  approached,  Madeleine  opened  her  blue  eyes 
and  gazed  at  her  beseechingly. 

"There  is  yet  time,"  said  Molly  in  a  hollow  voice. 
"Get  up  and  come  with  me." 

The  wan  face  upon  the  pillow  grew  whiter  still, 
the  old  horror  grew  in  the  uplifted  eyes,  the  wan  lips  mur- 
mured,  "I  cannot." 

There  was  an  immense  strength  of  resistance  in  the 
girl's  very  feebleness. 

Molly  turned  away  abruptly,  then  back  again  once 
more. 

"At  least  you  will  send  him  a  message.?" 

Madeleine  drew  a  deep  breath,  closed  her  eyes  a  mo- 
ment and  seemed  to  whisper  a  prayer ;  then  aloud  she 
said,  while,  like  a  shadow  so  faint  was  it,  a  flush  rose  to 
her  cheeks  : 

"  Tell  him  that  I  forgive  him,  that  I  forgive  him  freely 
— that  I  shall  always  pray  for  him."  The  flush  grew 
deeper.  "Tell  him  too  that  I  shall  never  be  any  man's 
bride,  now." 


400  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

She  closed  her  eyes  again  and  the  colour  slowly  ebbed 
away.  Molly  stood,  her  black  brows  drawn,  gazing  down 
upon  her  in  silence. — Did  she  love  him  after  all?  Who 
can  fathom  the  mystery  of  another's  heart  ? 

"I  will  tell  him,"  she  answered  at  last.  "Good-bye, 
Madeleine — I  shall  never  see  you  or  speak  to  you  again 
as  long  as  I  live." 

Slie  left  the  room  with  a  slow,  heavy  step. 

Madeleine  shivered,  and  with  both  hands  clasped  the 
silver  crucifix  that  hung  around  her  neck  ;  two  great  tears 
escaped  from  her  black  lashes  and  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 
Miss  Sophia  moaned.  She,  poor  soul,  had  had  tragedy 
enough,  at  last. 

When  the  jailer  brought  in  the  mid-day  meal  after 
Adrian's  departure,  he  found  the  prisoner  seated  very 
quietly  at  his  table,  his  open  Bible  before  him,  but  his 
eyes  tixed  dreamily  upon  the  space  of  dim  whitewashed 
wall,  and  his  mind  evidently  far  away. 

Upon  his  guardian's  entrance  he  roused  himself,  how- 
ever, and  begged  him,  when  he  should  return  for  the  dish, 
to  restore  neatness  to  the  bed  and  to  assist  him  in  the 
ordering  of  his  toilet  which  he  wished  to  be  spick  and 
span. 

"For  I  expect  a  visitor,"  said  Captain  Jack  gravely. 

When  in  due  course  the  fellow  had  carried  out  these 
wishes  with  the  surly  good-nature  characteristic  of  him, 
Jack  set  himself  to  wait. 

The  square  of  sky  through  his  window  grew  from  daz- 
zling white  to  deepest  blue,  the  shadows  travelled  along  the 
blank  walls,  the  street  noises  rose  and  fell  in  capricious 
gusts,  the  church  bells  jangled,  all  the  myriad  sounds  which 
had  come  to  measure  his  solitary  day  struck  their  familiar 
course  upon  his  ear  ;  yet  the  expected  visitor  delayed. 
But  the  captain,  among  other  things,  had  learnt  to  possess 
his  soul  in  patience  of  late  ;  and  so,  as  he  slowly  paced 
his  cell  after  his  wont,  he  betrayed  neither  irritation  nor 
melancholy.  If  she  did  not  come  to-day,  then  it  would 
be  to-morrow.      He  had  no  doubt  of  this. 

The  afternoon  had  waned — golden  without,  full  of  grey 
shadows  in  the  prison  room — when  light  footfalls  mingled 
with  the  well-known  heavy  tread  and  jangle  of  keys, 
along  the  echoing  passage. 


THE  ONE  HE  LOVED  401 

There  was  the  murmur  of  a  woman's  voice,  a  word  of 
gruff  reply,  and  the  next  moment  a  tall  form  wrapped  m  a 
many-folded  black  cloak  and  closely  veiled,  advanced 
a  few  steps  into  the  room,  while,  as  before,  the  turnkey 
retired  and  locked  the  door  behind  him. 

His  heart  beating  so  thickly  that  for  the  moment  utter- 
ance was  impossible,  Captain  Jack  made  one  hurried  pace 
forward  with  outstretched  hands,  only  to  check  himself, 
however,  and  let  them  fall  by  his  side.  He  would  meet 
her  calmly,  humbly,  as  he  had  resolved. 

The  woman  threw  back  her  veil,  and  it  was  Molly's 
dark  gaze,  Molly's  brown  face,  flushed  and  haggard,  yet 
always  beautiful,  that  looked  out  of  the  black  frame. 

An  ashen  pallor  spread  over  the  prisoner's  coun- 
tenance. 

"  Madeleine  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  whisper  ;  then,  with  a  loud 
ring  of  stern  demand,  "  Madeleine  !  " 

"  I  went  for  her,  I  went  for  her  myself — I  did  all  I  could 
— she  would  not  come." 

She  would  not  coine  ! 

It  is  a  sort  of  unwritten  law  that  the  supremely  afflicted 
have  the  right,  where  possible,  to  the  gratification  of  the 
least  of  their  wishes.  That  Madeleine  could  refuse  to 
come  to  him  in  his  last  extremity,  had  never  once  crossed 
her  lover's  brain.      He  stood  bewildered. 

"She  is  not  ill?" 

"  111 !  "  Lady  Landale's  red  lips  curved  in  scorn,  "  No — 
not  ill — but  a  coward  !  "  She  spat  the  word  fiercely  as  if 
at  the  offender's  face. 

There  fell  a  minute's  silence,  broken  only  by  a  few 
labouring  deep-drawn  breaths  from  the  prisoner's  op- 
pressed lungs.  Then  he  stood  as  if  turned  to  stone,  not 
a  muscle  moving,  his  eyes  fixed,  his  jaw  set. 

Molly  trembled  before  this  composure,  beneath  which 
she  divined  a  suffering  so  intense  that  her  own  frail  bar- 
riers of  self-restraint  were  well-nigh  broken  down  by  a 
torrent  of  passionate  pity. 

But  she  braced  herself  with  the  feeling  of  the  moment's 
urgency.     She  had  no  time  to  lose. 

"  Hear  me,"  she  cried  in  low  hurried  tones,  laying  a 

hand  upon    his  folded   arm    and  then  drawing  it  away 

again  as  if  frightened  by  the  rigid  tension  she  felt  there. 

"Waste  no  more  thought  on  one  so  unworthy — all  is  not 

26 


402  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

lost — I  bring  you  hope,  life.  Oh,  for  God's  sake,  wake 
up  and  listen  to  me — I  can  save  you  still.  Captain 
Smith,  Jack — Jack  !  " 

Her  voice  rose  as  high  as  she  dare  lift  it;,  but  no  statue 
could  be  more  unhearing. 

The  woman  cast  a  desperate  look  around  her ;  heark- 
ened fearfully,  all  was  silent  within  the  prison  ;  then  with 
tremulous  haste  she  cast  off  her  immense  cloak,  pulled 
her  bonnet  from  her  head,  divested  herself  of  her  long 
full  skirt  and  stood,  a  strange  vision,  lithe,  unconscious, 
unashamed,  her  slender  woman's  figure  clad  in  complete 
man's  raiment,  with  the  exception  of  the  coat.  Her  dark 
head  cropped  and  curly,  her  face,  with  its  fever-bloom, 
rising  flower-like  above  the  folds  of  her  white  shirt. 

With  anxious  haste  she  compared  herself  with  the 
prisoner. 

"Ren^  told  me  well,"  she  said  ;  "with  your  coat  upon 
me  none  would  tell  the  difference  in  this  dark  room.  I 
am  nearly  as  tall  as  you  too.  Thanks  be  to  God  that  he 
made  me  so.  Jack,"  calling  in  his  ear,  "  don't  you  see  ? 
Don't  you  understand  ?  It  is  all  quite  easy.  You  have 
only  to  put  on  these  clothes  of  mine,  this  cloak,  the  bon- 
net comes  quite  over  the  face  ;  stoop  a  little  as  you  go 
out  and  hold  this  handkerchief  to  your  face  as  if  in  tears. 
The  carriage  waits  outside  and  Rend.  The  rest  is  planned. 
1  shall  sit  on  the  bed  with  your  coat  on.  It  is  a  chance — 
a  certainty.  When  I  found  Rene  had  failed,  I  swore  that 
I  would  save  you  yet.  Ever  since  I  came  from  Pulwick 
this  morning  he  and  I  have  worked  together  upon  this 
last  plan.  There  is  not  a  flaw  ;  it  must  succeed.  Oh, 
God,  he  does  not  hear  me  !     Jack — Jack  !  " 

She  shook  him  with  a  sort  of  fury,  then,  falling  at  his 
feet,  clasped  his  knees. 

"  For  God's  sake — for  God's  sake  !  " 

He  sighed,  and  again  came  the  murmur  : 

"She  would  not  come "     He  lifted  his  hand  to  his 

forehead  and  looked  round,  then  down  at  her,  as  if  from 
a  great  height. 

She  saw  that  he  was  aroused  at  last,  sprang  to  her  feet, 
and  poured  out  the  details  of  the  scheme  again. 

"  I  run  no  risk,  you  see.  They  would  not  dare  to 
punish  me,  a  woman — Lady  Landale — even  if  they  could. 
Be  quick,  the  precious  moments  are  going  by.     I  gave 


THE  ONE  HE  LOVED  403 

the  man  some  gold  to  leave  us  as  long  as  he  could,  but 
any  moment  he  may  be  upon  us." 

"Poor  woman,"  said  Jack,  and  his  voice  seemed  as 
far  off  as  his  gaze  ;   ' '  see  these  chains. " 

She  staggered  back  an  instant,  but  the  next,  crying  : 

"The  file — the  file — that  was  why  Rene  gave  it  to  me." 
She  seized  the  skirt  as  it  lay  at  her  feet,  and,  striving  with 
agonised  endeavours  to  control  the  trembling  of  her 
hands,  drew  forth  from  its  pocket  a  file  and  would  have 
taken  his  wrist.  But  he  held  his  hands  above  his  head, 
out  of  her  reach,  while  a  strange  smile,  almost  of  triumph, 
parted  his  lips. 

"The  bitterness  of  death  is  past,"  he  said. 

She  tore  at  him  in  a  frenzy,  but,  repulsed  by  his  immo- 
bility, fell  again  broken  at  his  feet. 

In  a  torrent  of  words  she  besought  him,  for  Adrian's 
sake,  for  the  sake  of  the  beautiful  world,  of  his  youth,  of 
the  sweetness  of  life — in  her  madness,  at  last,  for  her  own 
sake  !  She  had  ruined  him,  but  she  would  atone,  she 
would  make  him  happy  yet.  If  he  died  it  was  death  to 
her.   .... 

When  at  length  her  voice  sank  away  from  sheer  ex- 
haustion, he  helped  her  to  rise,  and  seated  her  on  the 
chair  ;  then  told  her  quietly  that  he  was  quite  determined. 

"Go  home,"  said  he,  "and  leave  me  in  peace.  I 
thank  you  for  what  you  would  have  done,  thank  you  for 
trying  to  bring  Madeleine,"  he  paused  a  moment.  How 
purely  he  had  loved  her — and  twice,  twice  she  had  failed 
him.  "Yet,  I  do  not  blame  her,"  he  went  on  as  if  to 
himself;  "  I  did  not  deserve  to  see  her,  and  it  has  made 
all  the  rest  easy.  Remember,"  again  addressing  the 
woman  whom  hopelessness  seemed  for  a  moment  to  have 
benumbed,  "that  if  you  would  yet  do  me  a  kindness,  be 
kind  to  her.      If  you  would  atone — atone  to  Adrian." 

"To  Adrian?  "  echoed  Molly,  stung  to  the  quick,  with 
a  pale  smile  of  exceeding  bitterness.  And  with  a  rush  of 
pride,  strength  returned  to  her. 

"  I  leave  you  resolved  to  die  then  ?  "  she  asked  him, 
fiercely. 

"  You  leave  me  glad  to  die,"  he  replied,  unhesitatingly. 

She  spoke  no  more,  but  got  up  to  replace  her  garments. 
He  assisted  her  in  silence,  but  as  his  awkward  bound 
hands  touched  her  she  shuddered  away  from  him. 


404  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

As  she  gathered  the  cloak  round  her  shoulders  again, 
there  was  a  noise  of  heavy  feet  at  the  door. 

The  jailer  thrust  in  his  rusty  head  and  looked  furtively 
from  the  prisoner  to  his  visitor  as  they  stood  silently  apart 
from  each  other  ;  then,  making  a  sign  to  some  one  whose 
dark  figure  was  shadowed  behind  him  without,  entered 
with  a  hesitating  sidelong  step,  and,  drawing  Captain 
Jack  on  one  side,  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"The  blacksmith's  yonder.  He's  come  to  measure 
you,  captain,  for  them  there  irons  you  know  of — best  get 
the  lady  quietly  away,  for  he  wunnut  wait  no  longer." 

The  prisoner  smiled  sternly. 

"I  am  ready,"  he  said,   aloud. 

"I'll  keep  him  outside  a  minute  or  two,"  added  the 
man,  wiping  his  brow,  evidently  much  relieved  by  his 
charge's  calmness.  "I  kep'  him  back  as  long  as  I 
could — but  happen  it's  alius  best  to  hurry  the  parting 
after  all." 

He  moved  away  upon  tiptoe,  in  instinctive  tribute  to 
the  lady's  sorrow,  and  drew  the  door  to. 

Molly  threw  back  her  veil  which  she  had  lowered  upon 
his  entrance,  her  face  was  livid. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,   articulating  with  difficulty. 

"Nothing — a  fellow  to  see  to  my  irons." 

He  moved  his  hands  as  he  spoke,  and  she  understood 
him,  as  he  had  hoped,  to  refer  only  to  his  manacles. 

She  drew  a  gasping  breath.  How  they  watched  him  ! 
Yet  all  was  not  lost  after  all. 

"I  will  leave  the  file,"  she  said,  in  a  quick  whisper; 
"  you  will  reflect ;  there  is  yet  to-morrow,"  and  rushed 
to  hide  it  in  his  bed.  But  he  caught  her  by  the  arm.  his 
patience  worn  out  at  length. 

"Useless,"  he  answered,  harshly.  "  I  shall  not  use  it. 
Moreover,  it  would  be  found,  and  I  am  sure  it  is  not  your 
wish  to  bring  unnecessary  hardship  upon  my  last  moments. 
I  should  lose  the  only  thing  that  is  left  to  me,  the  comfort 
of  being  alone.     And  to-morrow  I  shall  see  no  one." 

The  door  groaned  apart : 

"Very  sorry,  mum,"  came  the  husky  voice  in  the 
opening,    "Time's  up.'' 

She  turned  a  look  of  agony  upon  Captain  Jack's  deter- 
mined figure.  Was  this  to  be  the  end  ?  Was  she  to  leave 
him  so,  without  even  one  kind  word.?  " 


THE  ONE  HE  LOVED  405 

Alas,  poor  soul !  All  her  hopes  had  fallen  to  this — a 
parting  word. 

He  was  unpitying  ;  his  arms  were  folded  ;  he  made  no 
sign. 

She  took  a  step  away  and  swayed  ;  the  turnkey  came 
forward  compassionately  to  lead  her  out.  But  the  next 
instant  she  wheeled  round  and  stood  alone  and  erect, 
braced  up  by  the  extremity  of  her  anguish. 

"  I  have  a  message,"  she  cried,  as  if  the  words  were 
forced  from  her.  "I  could  not  make  her  come,  but  I 
made  her  send  you  a  message.  She  told  me  to  say  that 
she  forgave  you,  freely  ;  that  she  would  always  pray  for 
you.  She  bade  me  tell  you  too  that  she  would  never  be 
any  man's  bride  now. " 

It  had  been  like  the  rending  of  body  and  soul  to  tell 
him  this.  As  she  saw  the  condemned  man's  face  quiver 
and  flush  at  last  out  of  its  impassiveness,  she  thought 
hell  itself  could  hold  no  more  hideous  torment. 

He  extended  his  arms  : 

"  Now  welcome  death  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

And  she  turned  and  fled  down  the  passage  as  though 
driven  upon  this  last  cry. 

"  E-h,  he  be  a  strange  one  !  "  said  the  jailer  afterwards 
to  his  mate.  "  If  ye'd  heard  that  poor  lady  sob  as  she 
went  by  !  I've  seen  many  a  one  in  the  same  case,  but  I 
was  sore  for  her,  I  was  that.  And  he — as  cool — ^joking 
with  Robert  over  the  hanging  irons  the  next  minute. 
'New  sort  of  tailor  I've  got,'  says  he.  'Make  them 
smart,'  he  says,  'since  I'm  to  wear  them  in  so  exalted  a 
position.'  So  exalted  a  position,  that's  what  he  says. 
'  And  they've  got  to  last  me"  some  long  time,  you  know,' 
says  he." 

"  He'll  be  something  worth  looking  at  on  Saturday.  I 
could  almost  wish  he  could  ha'  got  off,  only  that  it's  a 
fine  sight  to  see  a  real  gentleman  go  through  it.  Ah,  it's 
they  desperate  villains  has  the  proper  pluck  !  " 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 
LAUNCHED  ON  THE  GREAT  WAVE 

Sir  Adrian  made,  at  first  personally,  then  through  Miss 
O'Donoghue,  two  attempts  to  induce  his  wife  to  return  to 
Pulwickt  or  at  any  rate  to  leave  Lancaster  on  the  next 
day.  But  the  contempt,  then  the  fury,  which  she  op- 
posed to  their  reasoning-  rendered  it  worse  than  useless. 

The  very  sight  of  her  husband,  indeed,  seemed  to 
exasperate  the  unfortunate  woman  to  such  a  degree  that, 
in  spite  of  his  anxiety  concerning  her,  he  resolved  to 
spare  her  even  to  the  consciousness  of  his  presence,  and 
absented  himself  altogether  from  the  house. 

Miss  O'Donoghue,  unable  to  cope  with  a  state  of  affairs 
at  once  so  distressing  and  so  unbecoming,  finally  retired 
to  her  own  apartment  with  a  book  of  piety  and  some 
gruel,  and  abandoned  all  further  endeavour  to  guide  her 
unruly  relations.  So  that  Molly  found  herself  left  to  her 
own  resources,  in  the  guardianship  of  Ren^,  the  only 
company  her  misery  could  tolerate. 

Three  times  she  went  to  the  castle,  to  be  met  each 
time  with  the  announcement  that,  by  the  express  wish 
of  the  prisoner,  no  visitors  were  to  be  admitted  to  him 
again.  Then  in  restless  wandering  about  the  streets — 
once  entering  the  little  chapel  where  the  silent  tabernacle 
seemed,  with  its  closed  door,  to  offer  no  relenting  to  the 
stormy  cry  of  her  soul,  and  sent  lier  forth  uncomforted 
in  the  very  midst  of  Renes  humble  bead-telling,  to  pace 
the  flags  anew — so  the  terrible  day  wore  to  a  close  for 
her  ;  and  so  that  night  came,  precursor  of  the  most 
terrible  day  of  all. 

The  exhaustion  of  Lady  Landale's  body  produced  at 
last  a  fortunate  torpor  of  mind.  Flung  upon  her  bed  she 
fell  into  a  heavy  sleep,  and  Tanty  who  announced  her 
intention  of  watching  her,  when  Rene's  guardianship  had 

406 


LAUNCHED  ON  THE  GREAT  WAVE     407 

of  necessity  to  cease,  had  the  satisfaction  of  informing 
Adrian,  as  he  crept  into  the  house,  like  one  who  had  no 
business  there,  of  this  consoling  fact  before  retiring  her- 
self to  the  capacious  arm-chair  in  which  she  heroically- 
purposed  to  spend  the  night. 

The  sun  was  bright  in  the  heavens,  there  was  a  clatter 
and  bustle  in  the  street,  when  Molly  woke  with  a  great 
start  out  of  this  sleep  of  exhaustion.  Her  heart  beating 
with  heavy  strokes,  she  sat  up  in  bed  and  gazed  upon 
her  surroundings  with  startled  eyes.  What  was  this 
strange  feeling  of  oppression,  of  terror.-*  Why  was  she 
in  this  sordid  little  room.^  Why  was  her  hair  cut  short.? 
Ah,  my  God  !  memory  returned  upon  her  all  too  swiftly. 
It  was  for  to-day — to-day  ;  and  she  was  perhaps  too  late. 
She  might  never  see  him  again  ! 

The  throbbing  of  her  heart  was  suffocating,  sickening, 
as  she  slipped  out  of  bed.  For  a  moment  she  hardly 
dared  consult  the  little  watch  that  lay  ticking  upon  her 
dressing  table.  It  was  only  a  few  minutes  past  seven  ; 
there  was  yet  time. 

The  energy  of  her  desire  conquered  the  weakness  of 
her  overwrought  nerves. 

Noiselessly,  so  as  to  avoid  awakening  the  slumbering 
watcher  in  the  arm-chair,  but  steadily,  she  clothed  her- 
self, wrapt  the  dark  mantle  round  her  ;  and  then,  pausing 
for  a  moment  to  gaze  with  a  fierce  disdain  at  the  uncon- 
scious face  of  Miss  O'Donoghue,  which,  with  snores 
emerging  energetically  and  regularly  from  the  great 
hooked  nose,  presented  a  weird  and  witchlike  vision  in 
the  frame  of  a  night-cap,  fearfully  and  wonderfully  be- 
frilled,  crept  from  the  room  and  down  the  stairs. 

At  Rent's  door  she  paused  and  knocked. 

He  opened  on  the  instant.  From  his  worn  face  she 
guessed  that  he  had  been  up  all  night.  He  put  his  finger 
to  his  lips  as  he  saw  her,  and  glanced  meaningly  towards 
the  bed. 

The  words  she  would  have  spoken  expired  in  a  quick- 
drawn  breath.  Her  husband,  with  face  of  deathlike 
pallor  and  silvered  hair  abroad  upon  the  pillow,  lay  upon 
the  poor  couch,  still  in  his  yesterday  attire,  but  covered 
carefully  with  a  cloak.  His  breast  rose  and  fell  peace- 
fully with  his  regular  breath. 

The  scorn  with  which  she  had  looked  at  Miss  O'Don- 


4o8  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

oghue  now  shot  forth  a  thousand  times  intensified  from 
Molly's  circled  eyes  upon  the  prostrate  figure. 
"Asleep  !"  she  cried. 

And  then  with  that  incongruity  with  which  things 
trivial  and  irrelevant  come  upon  us,  even  in  the  supremest 
moments  of  life,  the  thought  struck  her  sharply  how  old 
a  man  he  was.      Her  lip  curved. 

"Yes,  My  Lady— asleep,"  answered  Rend  steadily— it 
seemed  as  if  the  faithful  peasant  had  read  her  to  her 
soul.  "Thank  God,  asleep.  It  is  enough  to  have  to 
lose  one  good  gentleman  from  the  world  this  day.  If  his 
honour  were  not  sleeping  at  last,  I  should  not  answer 
for  him— I  who  speak  to  you.  I  took  upon  myself  to 
put  some  of  the  medicine,  that  he  has  had  to  take  now 
and  again,  when  his  sorrows  come  upon  him  and  he 
cannot  rest,  into  his  soup  last  night.  It  has  had  a  good 
effect.  His  honour  will  sleep  three  or  four  hours  still, 
and  that,  My  Lady,  must  be.  His  honour  has  suffered 
enough  these  last  days,  God  knows  !  " 

The  wife  turned  away  vi'ith  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  Look,  Madame,  at  his  white  hairs.  All  white  now — 
they  that  were  of  a  brown  so  beautiful,  all  but  a  few 
locks,  only  a  few  months  past !  Well  may  he  look  old. 
When  was  ever  any  one  made  to  suffer  as  he  has  been, 
in  only  forty  years  of  life.?  Ah,  My  Lady,  we  were  at 
least  tranquil  upon  our  island  !  " 

There  was  a  volume  of  reproach  in  the  quiet  simplicity 
of  the  words,  though  Lady  Landale  was  too  bent  on  her 
own  purpose  to  heed  them.  But  she  felt  that  they  lodged 
in  her  mind,  that  she  would  find  them  there  later ;  but 
not  now — not  now. 

"  It  is  to  be  for  nine  o'clock,  you  know,"  she  said,  with 
desperate  calmness.  "  I  must  see  him  again.  I  must 
see  him  well.  Alone  I  shall  not  be  able  to  get  a  good 
place  in  the  crowd.  Oh,  I  would  see  all  !  "  she  added, 
with  a  terrible  laugh. 

Rene  cast  a  glance  at  his  master's  placid  face. 

"I  am  ready  to  come  with  My  Lady,"  he  said  then, 
and  took  his  hat. 

A  turbulent,  tender  April  day  it  was.  Gusts  of  west 
wind,  balmy  and  sweet  with  all  the  sweet  budding  life  of 
the  fields  beyond,  came  eddying  up  the  dusty  streets  and 
blowing  merrily  into  the  faces  of  the  holiday  crowd  that 


LAUNCHED  ON  THE  GREAT  WAVE    409 

already  pressed  in  a  steady  stream  towards  the  castle 
courtyard  to  see  the  hanging-.  In  those  days  there  were 
hangings  so  many  after  assizes  that  an  execution  could 
hardly  be  said  to  possess  the  interest  of  novelty.  But 
there  were  circumstances  enough  attending  the  forth- 
coming show  to  give  it  quite  a  piquancy  of  its  own  in 
the  eyes  of  the  worthy  Lancastrian  burghers,  who  hur- 
ried with  wives  and  children  to  the  place  of  doom, 
anxious  to  secure  sitting  or  standing  room  with  a  good 
view  of  the  gallows-tree. 

It  was  not  every  day,  indeed,  that  a  gentleman  was 
hanged.  So  handsome  a  man,  too,  as  the  rumours  went, 
and  so  dare-devil  a  fellow  ;  friend  of  the  noble  family  of 
Landale,  and  a  murderer  of  its  most  respected  member. 
Could  justice  ever  have  served  up  a  spicier  dish  whereon 
to  regale  the  multitude  } 

First  the  courtyard,  then,  the  walls,  the  roofs  of  the 
adjoining  houses,  swarmed  with  an  eager  crowd.  Every 
space  of  ground  and  slate  and  tile,  every  ledge  and  win- 
dow, was  occupied.  As  thick  as  bees  they  hung — men, 
women,  and  children  ;  a  sea  of  white  faces  pressed  to- 
gether, each  still,  yet  all  as  instinct  with  tremulous 
movement  as  a  field  of  corn  in  the  wind  ;  while  the 
hoarse,  indescribable  murmur  that  seizes  one  with  so 
strange  and  fearsome  an  impression,  the  voice  of  the 
multitude,  rose  and  fell  with  a  mighty  pulsation,  broken 
here  and  there  by  the  shriller  cry  of  a  child. 

Overhead  the  sky,  a  delicious  spring  blue  sky,  flecked 
with  tiny  white  clouds,  looked  down  like  a  great  smile 
upon  the  crowd  that  laughed  and  joked  beneath. 

No  pity  in  heaven  or  on  earth. 

But  as  the  felon  came  out  into  the  air,  which,  warm 
and  tickle,  puffed  against  his  cheek,  he  cast  one  steady 
glance  around  upon  the  black  human  hive  and  then 
looked  up  into  the  white  flecked  ether,  without  the  quiver 
of  a  nerve. 

He  drew  the  spring  breath  into  his  lungs  with  a  grate- 
ful expansion  of  his  deep  chest.  How  fresh  it  was  1 
And  the  sky,  how  fair  and  blue  ! 

As  the  eagerly  expected  group  emerged  from  the  prison 
door  and  was  greeted  by  a  roar  that  curdled  the  blood  in 
at  least  one  woman's  heart  there,  an  old  Irish  hag,  who 
sat  in  a  coign  of  vantage,  hugging  her  knees  and  croon- 


4IO  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

ing,  a  little  black  pipe  held  in  her  toothless  jaws,  ceased 
her  dismal  hum  to  concentrate  all  her  attention  upon  the 
condemned  man. 

The  creature  was  well  known  for  miles  around  as  a 
constant  attendant  at  such  spectacles,  and  had  become  in 
the  course  of  time  a  privileged  spectator.  No  one  would 
have  dreamt  of  disputing  the  first  place  to  old  Judy. 
Since  the  day  when,  still  a  young  woman,  she  had  seen 
her  two  sons,  mere  lads,  hanged,  the  one  for  sheep-steal- 
ing, the  other  for  harbouring  the  booty,  she  had,  by  a 
strange  freak  of  nature,  taken  a  taste  for  the  spectacle  of 
justice  at  work,  and  what  had  been  the  cause  of  her 
greatest  sorrow  became  the  only  solace  of  her  life.  Judy 
and  her  pipe  had  become  as  familiar  a  figure  at  the 
periodical  entertainment  as  the  executioner  himself — 
more  so,  indeed,  for  she  had  seen  many  generations  of 
these  latter,  and  could  compare  their  styles  with  the  judg- 
ment of  a  connoisseur. 

But  as  Captain  Jack  advanced,  the  pallor  of  his  clean 
shorn,  handsome  face  illumined  not  so  much  by  the 
morning  sun  without  it  seemed  as  by  the  shining  of  the 
bright  spirit  within  ;  as  gallantly  clad  as  he  had  ever 
been,  even  in  the  old  Bath  days  when  he  had  been  court- 
ing fair  Madeleine  de  Savenaye  ;  his  head  proudly  up- 
lifted, his  tread  firm,  strong  of  soul,  strong  of  body — 
some  chord  was  struck  in  the  perverted  old  heart  that  had 
so  long  revelled  in  unholy  and  gruesome  pleasure.  She 
drew  the  pipe  from  her  lips,  and  broke  out  into  screech- 
ing lamentations. 

"  Oh,  me  boy,  me  boy,  me  beautiful  boy  !  Is  it  hang 
him  they  will,  and  he  so  beautiful  and  brave  ?  The  mur- 
thering  villains,  my  curse  on  them — a  mother's  curse — 
God's  curse  on  them — the  black  murtherers  !  " 

She  scrambled  to  her  feet,  and  shook  her  fist  wildly  in 
the  face  of  one  of  the  sheriff's  men. 

A  woman  in  the  crowd,  standing  rigid  and  motionless, 
enveloped  in  mourning  robes,  here  suddenly  caught  up 
the  words  with  a  muttering  lip. 

"Murderers,  who  said  murderers.-*  Don't  they  know 
who  murdered  him  ?     Murdering  Moll,  Murdering  Moll  !  " 

"For  heaven's  love,  Madam,"  cried  a  man  beside 
her,  who  seemed  in  such  anxiety  concerning  her  as  to 
pay   little   heed   to    the   solemn    procession    which   was 


i 


LAUNCHED  ON  THE  GREAT  WAVE     411 

now  attracting   universal   attention,    "let   me  take  you 
away  !  " 

But  she  looked  at  him  with  a  distraught,  unseeing  eye, 
and  pulled  at  the  collar  of  her  dress  as  if  she  were  chok- 
ing. 

Old  Judy's  sudden  expression  of  opinion  created  a  small 
disturbance.  The  procession  had  to  halt ;  a  couple  of 
officials  good-naturedly  elbowed  her  on  one  side. 

But  she  thrust  a  withered  hand  expanded  in  protest  over 
their  shoulders,  as  the  prisoner  came  forward  again. 

"God  bless  ye,  honey,  God  bless  ye:  it's  a  wicked 
world.'' 

He  turned  towards  her  ;  for  the  last  time  the  old  sweet 
smile  sprang  to  lip  and  eye. 

"Thank  you,  mother,"  he  said,  and  raised  his  hand  to 
his  bare  head  with  courteous  gesture. 

The  crowd  howled  and  swayed.     He  passed  on. 

And  now  the  end  !  There  is  the  cart ;  the  officers  draw 
back  to  make  way  for  the  man  who  is  to  help  him  with 
his  final  toilet.  The  chaplain,  too,  falls  away  after  wring- 
ing his  hand  again  and  again.  Good  man,  he  weeps  and 
cannot  speak  the  sacred  words  he  would.  Why  weep  ? 
We  must  all  die  !  How  blue  the  sky  is  :  he  will  look 
once  more  before  drawing  down  the  cap  upon  his  eyes. 
His  hands  are  free,  for  he  is  to  die  as  like  a  gentleman  as 
may  be.  Just  the  old  blue  that  used  to  smile  down  at 
him  upon  his  merry  Peregrine,  and  up  at  him  from  the 
dancing  waves.  He  had  always  thought  he  would  have 
liked  to  die  upon  the  sea,  in  the  cool  fresh  water  .... 
a  clean,  brave  death. 

It  is  hard  to  die  in  a  crowd.  Even  the  very  beasts 
would  creep  into  cave  or  bush  to  die  decently — un  watched. 

A  last  puff  of  sweeping  wind  in  his  face  ;  then  darkness, 
blind,  suffocating 

Ah,  God  is  good  !  Here  is  the  old  ship  giving  and  rising 
under  his  feet  like  the  living  creature  he  always  thought 
her,  and  here  is  dazzling  brilliant  sunshine  all  around,  so 
bright  he  scarce  can  see  the  free  white-crested  waves  that 
are  dashing  down  upon  him  ;  but  he  is  upon  the  sea  in- 
deed, upon  the  sea  alone,  and  the  waves  are  coming. 
Hark  how  they  roar,  see  how  they  gather  !  The  brave 
Peregrine  she  dips  and  springs,  she  will  weather  the 
breakers  with  him  at  the  helm  no  matter  how  they  rear. 


412  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

On,  on  they  come,  mountain  high,  overwhelming,  bitter 
drenching. 

A  great  wave  in  very  truth,  it  gathers  and  breaks  and 
onward  rolls,  and  carries  the  soul  of  Hubert  Cochrane 
with  it. 

The  woman  in  the  black  cloak  falls  as  if  she  had  been 
struck,  and  as  those  around  her  draw  apart  to  let  her  com- 
panion and  another  man  lift  her  and  carry  her  away,  they 
note  with  horror  that  her  face  is  dark  and  swollen,  as  if  the 
cord  that  had  just  done  its  evil  work  yonder  had  been 
tightened  also  round  her  slender  throat. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE  GIBBET  ON  THE  SANDS 

Woman  !  take  up  thy  life  once  more 

Where  thou  hast  left  it ; 

Nothing  is  changed  for  thee,  thou  art  the  same, 

Thou  who  didst  think  that  all  things 

Would  be  wholly  changed  for  thee. 

Litteplayer's  Song. 

PuLwicK  ag-ain.  The  whirlwind  of  disaster  that  upon 
that  fatal  fifteenth  of  March  had  burst  upon  the  house  of 
Landale  has  passed  and  swept  away.  But  it  has  left  deep 
trace  of  its  passage. 

The  restless  head,  the  busy  hand,  the  scheming  brain 
of  Rupert  Landale  lie  now  mouldering  under  the  sod  of 
the  little  churchyard  where  first  they  started  the  mischief 
that  was  to  have  such  far  reaching- effects.  Low,  too,  lies 
the  proud  head  of  the  mistress  of  Pulwick,  so  stricken, 
indeed,  so  fever-tortured,  that  those  who  love  her  best 
scarce  dare  hope  more  for  her  than  rest  at  last  under  the 
same  earth  that  presses  thus  lightly  above  her  enemy's 
eternal  sleep. 

There  is  a  great  stillness  in  the  house.  People  go  to 
and  fro  with  muffled  steps,  the  master  with  bent  white 
head;  Bliss  O'Donoghue,  indefatigable  sick  nurse  ;  Made- 
leine, who  may  not  venture  as  far  as  the  threshold  of  her 
sister's  room,  and  awaits  in  prayer  and  tears  the  hour  of 
that  final  bereavement  which  will  free  her  to  take  wing- 
towards  the  cloister  for  which  her  soul  longs  ;  Sophia, 
crushed  finally  by  the  sorrows  she  has  played  at  all  her 
days.  Seemingly  there  is  peace  once  more  upon  them 
all,  but  it  IS  the  peace  of  exhaustion  rather  than  that  of 
repose.  And  yet — could  they  but  know  it,  as  the  sands 
run  down  ni  the  hour-glass  of  time  there  are  golden  grains 
gathering  still  to  drop  into  the  lives  of  each. 

But  meanwhile  none   may  read  the  future,  and  Molly 

413 


414  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

fights  for  her  life  in  the  darkened  room,  the  gloom  of 
which,  to  the  souls  of  the  dwellers  at  Pulwick,  seems  to 
spread  even  to  the  sunny  skies  without. 

When  Lady  Landale  was  brought  back  to  her  home 
from  Lancaster,  it  was  held  by  every  one  who  saw  her  that 
Death  had  laid  his  cold  finger  on  her  forehead,  and  that 
her  surrender  to  his  call  could  only  be  a  matter  of  hours. 

The  physician  in  attendance  could  point  out  no  reason- 
able ground  for  hope.  Such  a  case  had  never  come  within 
his  experience  or  knowledge,  and  he  was  with  difficulty 
induced  to  believe  that  it  was  not  the  result  of  actual 
violence. 

' '  In  every  particular, "  said  he,  "  the  patient's  symptoms 
are  those  of  coma  resulting  from  prolonged  strangulation 
or  asphyxia.  These  spectacles  are  very  dangerous  to 
highly  sensitive  organisations.  Lady  Landale  no  doubt 
felt  for  the  miserable  wretch  in  the  benevolence  of  her 
heart.  Imagination  aiding  her,  she  realised  suddenly  the 
horror  of  his  death  throes,  and  this  vivid  realisation  was 
followed  by  the  actual  simulacrum  of  the  torture.  We 
have  seen  hysterical  subjects  simulate  in  the  same  manner 
diverse  diseases  of  which  they  themselves  are  organically 
free,  such  as  epilepsy,  or  the  like.  But  Lady  Landale's 
condition  is  otherwise  serious.  She  is  alive  ;  more  I  can- 
not say." 

According  to  his  lights,  he  had  bled  the  patient,  as  he 
would  have  bled,  by  rote,  to  recall  to  life  one  actually  cut 
down  from  the  beam.  But,  although  the  young  blood 
did  flow,  bearing  testimony  to  the  fact  that  the  heart  still 
beat  in  that  deathlike  frame,  the  vitality  left  seemed  so 
faint  as  to  defy  the  power  of  human  ministration. 

The  flame  of  life  barely  flickered  ;  but  the  powers  of 
youth  were  of  greater  strength  in  the  unconscious  body 
than  could  have  been  suspected,  and  gradually,  almost 
imperceptibly,  they  asserted  themselves. 

With  the  return  of  animation,  however,  came  a  new 
danger  :  fever,  burning,  devastating,  more  terrible  even 
than  the  almost  mortal  syncope  ;  that  fever  of  the  brain 
which  wastes  like  the  rack,  before  which  science  stands 
helpless,  and  the  watcher  sinks  into  despair  at  his  im- 
potence to  screen  a  beloved  sufferer  from  the  horrible, 
ever-recurring  phantoms  of  delirium. 


THE  GIBBET  ON  THE  SANDS  415 

Had  not  Sir  Adrian  intuitively  known  well-nigh  every 
act  of  the  drama  which  had  already  been  so  fatal  to  his 
house,  Mollys  frenzied  utterances  would  have  told  him 
all.  Every  secret  incident  of  that  storm  of  passion  which 
had  desolated  her  life  was  laid  bare  to  his  sorrowing 
heart  : — her  aspirations  for  an  ideal,  centred  suddenly 
upon  one  man  ;  her  love  rapture  cruelly  baulked  at  every 
step  ;  the  consuming  of  that  love  fire,  resisting  all  frustra- 
tion of  hope,  all  efforts  of  conscience,  of  honour  ;  how 
her  whole  being  became  merged  into  that  of  the  man  she 
loved  and  whom  she  had  ruined,  her  life  in  his  life,  her 
very  breath  in  his  breath.  And  then  the  lamentable,  in- 
evitable end  :  the  fearful  confrontation  with  his  death. 
Again  and  again,  in  never  ceasing  repetition,  was  that 
fair,  most  dear  body,  that  harrowed  soul,  dragged  step  by 
step  through  every  iota  of  the  past  torture,  always  to  fall 
at  last  into  the  same  stillness  of  exhaustion — appalling 
image  of  final  death  that  wrung  Adrian  with  untold 
agonies  of  despair. 

For  many  days  this  condition  of  things  lasted  unaltered. 
In  the  physician's  own  words  it  was  impossible  that  life 
could  much  longer  resist  such  fierce  onslaughts.  But  one 
evening  a  change  came  over  the  spirit  of  the  sufferer's 
vision. 

There  had  been  a  somewhat  longer  interval  between 
the  paroxysms  ;  Sir  Adrian  seated  as  usual  by  the  bed, 
waiting  now  with  a  sinking  heart  for  the  wonted  return 
of  the  frenzy,  clamouring  in  his  soul  to  heaven  for  pity 
on  one  whom  seemingly  no  human  aid  could  succour, 
dared  yet  draw  no  shadow  of  hope  from  the  more  pro- 
longed stillness  of  the  patient.  Presently  indeed,  she 
grew  restless,  tossed  her  arms,  muttered  with  parched 
lips.  Then  she  suddenly  sat  up  and  listened  as  if  to  some 
deeply  annoying  and  disquieting  sound,  fell  back  again 
under  his  gentle  hands,  rolling  her  little  black  head  wearily 
from  side  to  side,  only  however  to  start  again,  and  again 
listen.  Thus  it  went  on  for  a  while  until  the  haunted, 
weary  eyes  grew  suddenly  distraught  with  terror  and 
loathing.  Straining  them  into  space  as  if  seeking  some- 
thing she  ought  to  see  but  could  not,  she  began  to  speak 
in  a  quick  yet  distinct  whisper  : 

"How  it  creaks,   creaks — creaks!     Will  no   one  stop 
that  creaking  !     What  is  it  that  creaks  so  ?     Will  no  one 


4i6  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

stop  that  creaking  !  "  And  again  she  placed  her  cheek  on 
the  pillow,  covering  her  ear  with  her  little,  wasted  hand, 
and  for  a  while  remained  motionless,  moaning  like  a 
child.  But  it  was  only  to  spring  up  again,  this  time  with 
a  cry  which  brought  the  physician  from  the  adjacent 
sleeping  room  in  alarm  to  her  bedside. 

"Ah,  God,"  she  shrieked,  her  eyes  distended  and  star- 
ing as  if  into  the  far  distance  through  walls  and  outlying 
darkness.  "I  see  it!  They  have  done  it,  they  have 
done  it  !     It  is  hanging  on  the  sands — how  it  creaks  and 

sways  in  the  wind  !     It  will  creak  for  ever,  for  ever 

Now  it  spins  round,  it  looks  this  way — the  black  face  ! 
It  looks  at  me  !  "  She  gave  another  piercing  cry,  then  her 
frame  grew  rigid.  With  mouth  open  and  fixed  eyeballs 
she  seemed  lost  in  the  frightful  fascination  of  the  image 
before  her  brain. 

As,  distracted  by  the  sight  of  her  torments,  Adrian  hung 
over  her,  racking  his  mind  in  the  endeavour  to  soothe  her, 
her  words  struck  a  chill  into  his  very  soul.  He  cast  a 
terrified  glance  at  the  doctor  who  was  ominously  feeling 
her  pulse. 

"There  is  a  change,"  he  faltered. 

The  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  have  told  you  before,"  he  retorted  irritably,  "that 
you  should  attach  no  more  importance  to  the  substance 
of  these  delirious  wanderings  than  you  w-ould  to  the  rav- 
ings of  madness.  It  is  the  fact  of  the  delirium  itself  which 
must  alarm  us.     She  is  less  and  less  able  to  bear  it." 

The  patient  moaned  and  shuddered,  resisting  the  gentle 
force  that  would  have  pressed  her  down  on  her  pillow. 

"Oh  the  creaking,  the  creaking!  Will  no  one  stop 
that  creaking  !     Must  I  hear  it  go  on  creak,  creak,  creak 

for  ever,  and  see  it  sway  and  sway Will  no  one 

ever  stop  it !  " 

Sir  Adrian  took  a  sudden  resolution.  "  I  will, "he said, 
low  and  clear  into  her  ear.  She  sank  down  on  the 
instant  and  looked  at  him,  back  from  her  far  distance, 
almost  as  if  she  understood  him  and  the  pitiful  cry  for  the 
help  he  would  have  given  his  heart's  blood  to  procure 
for  her,  was  silent  for  the  moment  upon  her  lips. 

"I  will  prepare  an  opiate,"  said  the  physician  in  a 
whisper. 

"And  I,"  said  Sir  Adrian  to  him,  with  a  strange expres- 


THE  GIBBET  ON  THE  SANDS  417 

sion  upon  his  pale  face,    "am  going  to  stop  that  creak- 
ing." 

The  man  of  medicine  gazed  after  him  with  a  look  of 
intense  astonishment  which  rapidly  changed  to  one  of 
professional  interest. 

"It  is  evident  that  I  shall  soon  have  another  mentally- 
deranged  patient  to  see  to,"  he  remarked  to  himself  as  he 
rose  to  seek  the  drugs  he  meant  to  administer. 

Downstairs,  Sir  Adrian  immediately  called  for  Rene,  and 
being  informed  that  he  had  left  for  the  island  early  in  the 
afternoon  and  had  announced  his  return  before  night, 
cast  a  cloak  over  his  shoulders  and  hurried  forth  in  the 
hope  of  meeting  him  upon  his  homeward  way.  His 
pulses  were  beating  well-nigh  as  wildly  as  those  of  the 
fever  stricken  woman  upstairs  in  the  house.  He  dared 
not  pause  to  reflect  on  his  purpose,  or  seek  to  disentangle 
the  confusion  of  his  thoughts,  for  fear  of  being  confronted 
with  the  hopelessness  of  their  folly.  But  the  exquisite 
serenity  of  the  night  sky,  where  swam  the  moon,  "  a  silver 
splendour;"  the  freshness  of  the  sweeping  breeze  that 
dashed,  keen  from  the  east,  over  the  sea  against  his  face  ; 
all  the  glorious  distance,  the  unconsciousness  and  detach- 
ment of  nature  from  the  fume  and  misery  of  life,  brought 
him  unwittingly  to  a  calmer  mood. 

He  had  reached  the  extreme  confine  of  the  pine  wood, 
when,  across  the  sands  that  stretched  unbroken  to  the 
lips  of  the  sea,  a  figure  advanced  towards  him. 

"Renny  !  "  called  Sir  Adrian. 

"Your  honour  !  "  cried  the  man,  breaking  into  a  run  to 
meet  him.  O  God !  how  ghostly  white  looked  the 
master's  face  in  the  moon-flood  ! 

"My  Lady ?" 

"Not  worse;  yet  not  better — and  that  means  worse 
now.  But  there  is  a  change.  Renny, "  sinking  his  voice 
and  clasping  the  man's  sturdy  arm  with  clammy  hand, 
"is  it  true  they  have  placed  him  on  the  sands  to-day  ?  " 

The  man  stared. 

"  How  did  your  honour  know  .-*  Yes — they  have  done 
so.  It  is  true  :  the  swine  !  not  more  than  an  hour,  in 
verity.  How  could  it  have  come  so  soon  to  your  honour's 
ears  .''  This  morning,  indeed,  they  came  from  the  town 
in  a  cart,  and  planted  the  great  gibbet  on  Scarthey  Point, 
at  low  water.  And  to-night  they  brought  the  body,  all 
27 


4i8  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

bound  in  irons,  and  from  a  boat,  for  it  was  high  tide, 
they  riveted  it  on  the  chain.  And  it  is  to  remain  forever, 
your  honour — so  they  say." 

"Strange,"  murmured  Sir  Adrian  to  himself,  gazing 
seaward  with  awestruck  eyes.  "  And  did  you,"  he  asked, 
"hear  its  creaking,  Renny,  as  it  swayed  in  the  wind.^*" 

Again  Rend  cast  a  quick  glance  ot  alarm  at  his  master. 
The  master  had  a  singular  manner  with  him  to-night  ! 
Then  edging  closer  to  him  he  whispered  in  his  ear  : 

"  They  say  it  is  to  hang  for  ever.  There  is  a  warning 
to  those  who  would  interfere  with  this  justice  of  theirs. 
But,  your  honour,  there  came  one  to  the  island  to-day,  I 
do  not  know  if  your  honour  knows  him,  the  captain's 
second  on  that  vessel  of  misfortune.  And  I  believe,  your 
honour,  the  dawn  will  never  see  that  poor,  black  body 
hanging  over  yonder  like  a  scarecrow,  to  spoil  our  view. 
This  man,  this  brave  mariner,  Curwen  is  his  name,  he  is 
mad  furious  with  us  all  !  He  has  just  but  come  from 
hearing  of  his  captain's  fate,  and  he  is  ready  to  kill  us, 
that  we  let  him  be  murdered  without  breaking  some  heads 
for  him.  Faith,  if  it  could  have  done  any  good,  it  is  not 
I  that  would  have  balanced  about  it !  But,  as  I  told  him, 
there  was  no  use  running  one's  own  head  into  a  loop  of 
rope  when  that  would  please  nobody  but  Mr.  the  Judge. 
But  he  is  not  to  be  reasoned  with.  He  is  like  a  wild  an- 
imal. When  I  left  him,"  said  Rend,  dropping  his  voice 
still  lower,  "he  was  knocking  a  coffin  together  out  of 
the  old  sea  wood  on  Scarthey.  He  said  his  captain 
would  rest  better  in  those  boards  that  were  seasoned  with 
salt  water.  And  when  I  went  away,  your  honour,  and 
left  him  hammering  there — faith,  I  thought  that  the  coffin 
was  like  to  be  seasoned  by  another  kind  of  salt  water  too. " 

His  face  twitched  and  the  ready  tears  sprang  to  his  own 
eyes  which,  unashamed,  he  now  wiped  with  his  sleeve 
after  his  custom.  But  Sir  Adrian's  mind  was  still  drifting 
in  distant  ghastly  companionship. 

"  How  the  wind  blows  !  "  he  said,  and  shuddered  a 
little.  "  How  the  poor  body  must  sway  in  the  wind,  and 
the  chains  creak." 

"  If  it  can  make  any  difference  to  the  poor  captain  he 
will  lie  in  peace  to-night,  please  God,"  said  Rend. 

"  Ay,"  said  Sir  Adrian,  "and  you  and  I,  friend,  will  go 
too,  and  help  this  good  fellow  in  his  task.     I  hope,  I  be- 


THE  GIBBET  ON  THE  SANDS  419 

lieve,   that  I  should    have    done  this  thing  of   my  own 

thought,  had  I  had  time  to  think  at  all.     But  now,  more 

hangs  upon  those  creaking  chains  than  you  can  dream  of. 

This  is  a  strange  world — and  it  is  full  of  ghosts  to-night. 

But  we  must  hurry,  Renny." 

***** 

Bound  even  to  the  tips  of  her  burning  little  fingers  by 
the  spell  of  the  opiate.  Lady  Landale  lay  in  the  shadowed 
room  as  one  dead,  yet  in  her  sick  brain  fearfully  awake, 
keenly  alive. 

At  first  it  was  as  if  she  too  was  manacled  in  chains  till 
she  could  not  move  a  muscle,  could  not  breathe  or  cry 
because  of  the  ring  round  her  breast  ;  and  she  was  hang- 
ing with  the  black  figure,  swaying,  while  the  rusty  iron 
links  went  creak,  creak,  creak,  with  every  swing  to  and 
fro.  Then  suddenly  she  seemed  to  stand,  as  it  were,  out 
of  herself  and  to  be  seeing  with  the  naked  soul  alone. 
And  what  she  saw  was  the  great  stretch  of  beach  and 
sea,  white,  white,  white,  in  the  moonlight  and  spreading, 
it  seemed,  for  leagues  and  leagues,  spreading  till  all  the 
world  was  only  beach  and  sea. 

But  close  to  her  in  the  whitest  moonlight  rose  the  great 
gibbet,  gaunt  and  black,  cutting  the  pale  sky  in  two  and 
athwart  ;  and  hanging  from  it  was  the  black  figure  that 
swayed  and  swung.  And  though  the  winds  muttered  and 
the  waves  growled,  she  could  not  hear  them  with  the  ears 
of  the  soul,  for  that  the  whole  of  this  great  world  of  sea 
and  sand  was  filled  with  the  creaking  of  the  chains. 

But  now,  across  the  bleak  and  pallid  spaces  came  three 
black  figures.  And,  as  she  looked  and  watched  and  they 
drew  nearer,  the  dreadful  burthen  of  the  gibbet  swung 
round  as  if  to  greet  them,  and  she  too,  felt  in  her  soul 
that  she  knew  them  all  three,  though  not  by  names,  as 
creatures  of  earth  know  each  other,  but  by  the  kinship  of 
the  soul.  This  man  with  hair  as  white  as  the  white  beach, 
hair  that  seemed  to  shine  silver  as  he  came  ;  and  him 
yonder  who  followed  him  as  a  dog  his  master  ;  and  yon- 
der again  the  third,  in  the  seaman's  dress,  with  hard  face 
hewn  into  such  rugged  lines  of  grief  and  fury — she  knew 
them  all.  And  next  they  reached  the  gibbet  :  and  one 
swarmed  up  the  black  post,  and  hammered  and  filed  and 
prised,  and  then,  oh  merciful  God  !  the  creaking  stopped 
at  last ! 


420  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

Now  she  could  hear  the  wash  of  the  waves,  the  rush  of 
the  wholesome  wind  ! 

A  mist  came  across  her  vision  ;  faintly  she  saw  the 
stiffened  disfigured  corpse  which  yet  she  felt  had  once 
been  something  she  had  loved  with  passion,  laid  rev- 
erently upon  a  stretcher,  its  irons  loosened  and  cast 
away,  and  then  covered  with  a  great  cloak.  Then  the 
sea,  the  beach,  the  white  moon  faded  and  waved  and 
receded.  Molly's  soul  went  back  to  her  body  again, 
while  blessed  tears  fell  one  by  one  from  her  hot  eyes. 
She  breathed  ;  her  limbs  relaxed  ;  round  the  tired  brain 
came,  with  a  soft  hush  like  that  of  gentle  wings,  dark 
oblivion. 

Bending  over  her,  for  he  was  aware  that  for  good  or 
evil  the  crisis  was  at  hand,  the  physician  saw  moisture 
bead  upon  the  suddenly  smoothed  brow,  heard  a  deep 
sigh  escape  the  parted  lips.  And  then  with  a  movement 
like  a  weary  child's  she  drew  her  arms  close  and  fell 
asleep. 

Having  laid  his  friend  to  his  secret  rest,  deep  in  the 
rock  of  Scarthey,  where  the  free  waves  that  his  soul 
had  revelled  in  would  beat  till  the  world's  end,  Sir 
Adrian  returned  to  Pulwick  in  the  early  morning,  spent 
with  the  long  and  heavy  night's  toil — for  it  had  taxed 
the  strength  of  even  three  men  to  hollow  out  a  grave 
in  such  a  soil.  On  the  threshold  he  was  greeted  by  the 
physician. 

"How  beautiful  upon  the  mountains  are  the  feet  of 
the  messengers  of  glad  tidings  !  "  From  afar,  by  the 
man's  demeanour,  he  knew  that  the  tidings  were  glad. 
And  most  blessed  they  were  indeed  to  his  ears,  but  to 
them  alone  not  strange.  Throughout  every  detail  of  his 
errand  his  mind  had  dwelt  rather  with  the  living  than 
the  dead.  What  he  had  done,  he  had  done  for  her;  and 
now,  the  task  achieved,  it  seemed  but  natural  that  the 
object  for  which  it  had  been  undertaken  should  have  been 
achieved  likewise. 

But,  left  once  more  with  her,  seeing  her  once  more 
wrapt  in  placid  sleep,  whom  he  had  thought  he  would 
never  behold  at  rest  again  save  in  the  last  sleep  of  all,  the 
revulsion  was  overpowering.  He  sat  down  by  her  side, 
and  through  his  tears  gazed  long  at  the  lovely  head,  now 


THE  GIBBET  ON  THE  SANDS  421 

in  its  pallor  and  emaciation  so  sadly  like  that  of  his  dead 
love  in  the  sorrowful  days  of  youth  ;  and  he  thanked 
heaven  that  he  was  still  of  the  earth  to  shield  her  with 
his  devotion,  to  cherish  her  who  was  now  so  helpless  and 
bereft. 

And  with  such  tears  and  such  thoughts  came  a  forget- 
fulness  of  that  anguish  which  in  him,  as  well  as  in  her, 
had  for  so  long  been  part  of  actual  existence. 

When  Tanty  entered  on  tiptoe  some  hours  later,  she 
saw  her  niece  motionless  upon  her  pillow,  sleeping  as 
easily  and  reposefuUy  as  a  child.  And  close  to  her  head, 
Sir  Adrian,  reclining  in  the  arm-chair,  asleep  likewise. 
His  arm  was  stretched  limply  over  the  bed  and,  on  its 
sleeve  still  stained  with  the  red  mud  of  the  grave  in  Scar- 
they,  rested  Lady  Landale's  little,  thin,  ivory-white  fingers. 

Thus  ended  Molly's  brief  but  terrible  madness. 

"Then  you  have  hope,  real  hope  .'' "  asked  Sir  Adrian, 
of  the  physician  as  they  met  again  that  day  in  the 
gallery. 

"Every  hope,"  replied  the  man  of  science  with  the 
proud  consciousness  of  having,  by  his  wisdom,  pulled  his 
patient  out  of  the  very  jaws  of  death.  "Recovery  is 
now  but  a  question  of  a  time  ;  of  a  long  time,  of  course, 
for  this  crisis  has  left  her  weaker  than  the  new-born  babe. 
Repose,  complete  repose,  sleep  :  that  is  almost  every- 
thing. And  she  will  sleep.  Happily,  as  usual  in  such 
cases,  Lady  Landale  seems  to  have  lost  all  memory.  But 
I  must  impress  upon  you.  Sir  Adrian,  that  the  longer  we 
can  keep  her  in  this  state,  the  better.  If  you  have  rea- 
son to  believe  that  even  the  sight  of  j^om  might  recall  dis- 
tressing impressions,  you  must  let  me  request  of  you  to 
keep  away  from  the  sick  room  till  your  wife's  strength  be 
sufficiently  restored  to  be  able  to  face  emotions." 

This  was  said  with  a  certain  significance  which  called 
the  colour  to  Sir  Adrian's  cheek.  He  acquiesced,  how- 
ever, without  hesitation  ;  and,  banished  from  the  place 
where  his  treasure  lay,  fell  to  haunting  the  passages  for 
the  rest  of  the  day  and  to  waylaying  the  privileged  at- 
tendants with  a  humble  resignation  which  would  have 
been  sorrowful  but  for  the  savour  of  his  recent  relief  from 
anguish. 

But  the  next  morning,  Lady  Landale,  though  too  weak 


422  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

of  body  to  lift  a  finger,  too  weak  of  mind  to  connect  a 
single  coherent  phrase,  nevertheless  took  the  matter  into 
her  own  hands,  and  proved  that  it  is  as  easy  to  err  upon 
the  side  of  prudence  as  upon  its  reverse. 

Miss  O'Donoghue,  emerging  silently  from  the  room 
after  her  night's  vigil,  came  upon  her  nephew  at  his  post, 
and,  struck  to  her  kind  heart  by  his  wistful  countenance, 
bade  him  with  many  winks  and  nods  enter  and  have  a 
look  at  his  wife. 

"Don't  make  a  sound,"  she  whispered  to  him,  "and 
then  she  won't  hear  you.  But,  faith  she's  sleeping  so 
well,  it's  my  belief  if  you  danced  a  jig  she  would  not  stii 
a  limb.      Go  in,  child,  go  in.      It's  beautiful  to  see  her  !  " 

And  Adrian,  pressed  by  his  own  longing,  was  unable 
to  resist  the  offer.  Noiselessly  he  stepped  across  the  for- 
bidden threshold  and  stood  for  a  long  time  contemplating 
the  sleeper  in  the  dim  light.  As  he  was  about  to  creep 
out  at  length,  she  suddenly  opened  her  eyes  and  fixed 
them  wonderingly  upon  him.  Fearful  of  having  done  the 
cruel  deed  against  which  he  had  been  warned,  he  felt 
his  heart  contract  and  would  have  rushed  away,  in  an 
agony  of  self-accusation,  when  there  occurred  what 
seemed  to  him  a  miracle. 

A  faint  smile  came  upon  the  pale  lips,  and  narrowed 
ever  so  little  the  large  sunken  eyes.  Yes  ;  by  all  that 
was  beautiful,  it  was  a  smile — transient  and  piteous,  but 
a  smile.     And  for  him  ! 

As  he  bent  forward,  almost  incapable  of  believing,  the 
lips  relaxed  again  and  the  lids  drooped,  but  she  shifted 
her  hands  upon  the  bed,  imeasily,  as  if  seeking  some- 
thing. He  knelt,  trembling,  by  her  side,  and  as  with 
diffident  fingers  he  clasped  the  wandering  hands  he  felt 
them  faintly  cling  to  his.  And  his  heart  melted  all  in  joy. 
The  man  of  science  had  reasoned  astray  ;  there  need  be 
no  separation  between  the  husband  who  would  so  dearly 
console,  and  the  wife  who  needed  help  so  sorely. 

For  a  long  while  he  remained  thus  kneeling  and  hold- 
ing her  hands.  It  seemed  as  though  some  of  the  life 
strength  he  longed  to  be  able  to  pour  from  himself  to  her, 
actually  passed  into  her  frame  :  as  though  there  were  in- 
deed a  healing  virtue  in  his  all  encompassing  tenderness  ; 
for,  after  a  while,  a  faint  colour  came  to  the  sunken 
cheeks.     And  presently,   still  holding  his  hand,  she  fell 


THE  GIBBET  ON  THE  SANDS  423 

once    more    into    that    slumber    which    was    now    her 
healing. 

After  this  it  was  found  that  the  patient  actually  became 
fretful  and  fevered  again  when  her  husband  was  too  long 
absent  from  her  side  ;  and  thus  it  came  to  pass  that  he 
began  to  supersede  all  other  watchers  in  her  room.  Tanty 
in  highest  good  humour,  declared  that  her  services  were 
no  longer  necessary,  and  volunteered  to  conduct  Made- 
leine to  the  Jersey  convent,  whither  (her  decision  being 
irrevocable)  it  was  generally  felt  that  it  would  be  well  for 
the  latter  to  proceed  before  her  sister's  memory  with 
returning  strength  should  have  returned  likewise. 

This  memory,  M'ithout  which  the  being  he  loved  would 
remain  afflicted  and  incomplete,  yet  upon  the  working  of 
which  so  much  that  was  still  uncertain  must  hinge — Sir 
Adrian  at  once  yearned  for,  and  dreaded  it. 

Many  a  time  as  he  met  the  sweet  and  joyful  greeting 
in  those  eyes  v^'here  he  had  grown  accustomed  to  find 
nought  but  either  mockery  or  disdain,  did  he  recall  his 
friend's  prophetic  words  :  "Out  of  my  death  will  grow 
your  happiness."  Was  there  happiness  indeed  yet  in 
store  in  the  future  ?  Alas,  happiness  for  them  dwelt  in 
oblivion;  and,  some  day,  "remembrance  would  wake 
with  all  her  busy  train,  and  swell  at  her  breast,"  and 
then 

Meanwhile,  however,  the  present  had  a  sweetness  of 
its  own.  There  was  now  free  scope  for  the  passion  of 
devotedness  which  almost  made  up  the  sum  of  this  man's 
character — a  character  which,  to  the  Molly  of  wayward 
days,  to  the  hot-pulsed,  eager,  impatient  "Murthering 
Moll,"  had  been  utterly  incomprehensible  and  unconge- 
nial. And  to  the  Molly  crushed  in  the  direst  battle  of  life, 
whom  one  more  harshness  of  fate,  even  the  slightest, 
would  have  straightway  hurled  back  into  the  grave  that 
had  barely  been  baulked  of  its  prey,  it  gave  the  very  food 
and  breath  of  her  new  existence. 

Week  after  week  passed  in  this  guise,  during  which  her 
natural  healthiness  slowly  but  surely  re-established  itself; 
weeks  that  were  happy  to  him,  in  later  life,  to  look  back 
upon,  though  now  full  of  an  anxiousness  which  waxed 
stronger  as  recovery  drew  nearer. 

There  was  little  talking  between  them,  and  that  kept 
by  him  studiously'on  subjects  of  purely  ephemeral,  child- 


424  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

ish  interest.  Her  mind,  by  the  happy  dispensation  of 
nature  which  facilitates  healing  by  all  means  when  once 
healing'  has  begun,  was  blank  to  any  impressions  save  the 
luxury  of  rest,  of  passive  enjoyment,  indifferent  to  ought 
but  the  passing  present.  She  took  pleasure  in  flowers, 
in  the  gambols  of  pet  animals,  in  long  listless  spells  of 
cloud-gazing  when  the  heavens  were  bright,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  her  husband  in  whom  she  only  saw  a  being 
whose  eyes  were  always  beautiful  with  the  light  of  kind- 
ness, whose  touch  invariably  soothed  her  when  fatigue 
or  irritation  marred  the  even  course  of  her  feelings. 

She  had  ever  a  smile  for  him,  •which  entered  his  soul 
like  the  radiance  of  sunshine  through  a  stormy  sky. 

Thus  the  days  went  by.  Like  a  child  she  ate  and 
slept  and  chattered — irresponsible  chatter  that  was  music 
to  his  ear.  She  laughed  and  teased  him  too,  as  a  child 
would  ;  till  sad,  as  it  was,  he  hugged  the  incomplete  hap- 
piness to  his  heart  with  a  dire  foreboding  that  it  might 
be  all  he  was  to  know  in  life. 

But  one  evening,  in  sudden  freak,  she  bade  him  open 
the  shutters,  pull  the  curtains,  and  raise  the  window  that 
she  might,  from  her  pillow,  look  forth  upon  the  night, 
and  smell  the  sweet  night  air. 

She  had  been  unusually  well  that  day,  and  on  her  face 
now  filling  out  once  more  into  its  old  soft  oval,  bloomed 
again  a  look  of  warm  life  and  youth.  Unsuspecting,  un- 
thinking Sir  Adrian  obeyed.  It  was  a  dim,  close  night, 
and  the  blush-roses  nodded  palely  into  the  room  from  the 
outer  darkness  as  he  raised  the  sash.  There  was  no 
moon,  no  stars  shone  in  the  mist  hung  sky  ;  there  was 
no  light  to  be  seen  anywhere  except  one  faint  glimmer 
in  the  distance — the  light  upon  Scarthey  Island. 

"Is  that  a  star  ? "  said  Molly,  after  a  moment's  dreamy 
silence. 

Sir  Adrian  started.  A  vision  of  all  that  might  hang 
upon  his  answer  flashed  through  his  brain.  With  a  trem- 
bling hand  he  pulled  the  curtain.      It  was  too  late. 

Molly  sat  up  in  bed,  with  a  contracted  brow  and  hands 
outstretched  as  one  who  would  seize  a  tantalising  escap- 
ing memory. 

"I  used  to  watch  it  then,  at  night,  from  this  window," 
she  whispered.  "What  was  it.?  The  light  of  Scarthey?  " 
Then  suddenly,  with  a  scream  ;  "The  light  of  Scarthey  !  " 


THE  GIBBET  ON  THE  SANDS  425 

Adrian  sprang  to  her  side  but  she  turned  from  him, 
shrank  from  him,  with  a  look  of  dread  which  seared  him 
to  the  soul. 

"  Do  not  come  near  me,  do  not  touch  me,"  she  cried. 

And  then  he  left  her. 

Miss  O'Donoghue  was  gone  upon  her  journey  with 
Madeleine.  There  was  none  in  whom  he  might  confide, 
with  whom  seek  counsel.  But  presently,  listening  out- 
side the  door  in  an  agony  of  suspense,  he  heard  a  storm 
of  sobs.  In  time  these  gradually  subsided  ;  and  later  he 
learnt  from  Moggie,  whom  he  had  hurriedly  ordered  to 
her  mistress's  side,  that  his  wife  was  quiet  and  seemed 
inclined  to  rest. 

On  the  next  day,  she  expressed  no  desire  to  see  him 
and  he  dared  not  go  to  her  unsought.  He  gathered  a 
great  dewy  bunch  of  roses  and  had  them  brought  to  her 
upon  her  breakfast  tray  instead  of  bringing  them  himself 
as  had  been  his  wont. 

She  had  taken  the  roses,  Moggie  told  him,  and  laid 
them  to  her  cheek.  "The  master  sent  them,  said  I," 
continued  the  sturdy  little  matron,  who  was  far  from  pos- 
sessing the  instinctive  tact  of  her  spouse  ;  "  an'  she  get 
agate  o'crying  quiet  like  and  let  the  flowers  fall  out  of  her 
hands  on  the  bed — Eh,  what  ever's  coom  to  her,  sin  yes- 
terday .''     Wannut  you  go  in,  sir .''  " 

"  Not  unless  she  sends  for  me,"  said  Sir  Adrian  hastily. 
"  And  remember.  Moggie,  do  not  speak  my  name  to  her. 
She  must  not  be  worried  or  distressed.  But  if  she  sends 
for  me,  come  at  once.      You  will  find  me  in  the  library." 

And  in  the  library  he  sat  the  long,  long  day,  waiting 
for  the  summons  that  did  not  come.  She  never  sent  for 
him. 

She  had  wept  a  good  deal  during  the  day,  the  faithful 
reporter  told  him  in  the  evening,  but  always  "  quiet 
like  ;  "  had  spoken  little,  and  though  of  unwonted  gentle- 
ness of  manner  had  persistently  declined  to  be  carried  to 
the  garden  as  usual,  or  even  to  leave  her  room.  Now 
she  had  gone  back  to  bed,  and  was  sleeping  peacefully. 

An  hour  later  Sir  Adrian  left  his  home  for  Scarthey 
once  again.  It  is  to  be  doubted  whether,  through  all  the 
vicissitudes  of  his  existence  he  ever  carried  into  the  shel- 
tering ruins  a  heart  more  full  of  cruel  pain. 


426  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

When  Tanty  returned  to  Pulwick  from  her  travels 
again,  it  was  to  find  in  Miss  Landale  the  only  member  of 
the  family  waiting  to  greet  her.  The  old  lady's  displeasure 
on  learning  the  reason  of  this  defection,  was  at  first  too 
intense  to  find  relief  in  words.  But  presently  the  strings  of 
her  tongue  were  loosened  under  the  influence  of  the  usual 
feminine  restorative  ;  and,  failing  a  better  listener,  she  be- 
gan to  dilate  upon  the  situation  with  her  wonted  garrulity. 

"Yes,  my  good  Sophia,  I   will   thank  you  for  another 
cup  of  tea.     What  should  we  do  without  tea  in  this  weary 
world  ?     I  declare  it's  the  only  pleasure  left  to  me  now — 
for,  of  all  the  ungrateful  things  in  life,  working  for  your 
posterity   is  the   most  ungrateful.      Posterity   is   born    to 
trample  on   one  ....   And  now,  sit  down    and  tell  me 
exactly  how  matters  stand.     My  niece  is  greatly  better, 
I  hear.     The  doctor  considers   her   quite   convalescent  ? 
At    least    this    is    very   satisfactory.       Very    satisfactory 
indeed  !     Just  now  she  is  resting.      Quite  so.      I  should 
not  dream  of   disturbing  her  ;    more    especially    as    the 
sight  of  me  would  probably  revive   painful    memories, 
and    we    must    not    risk    her   having    a    bad    night — of 
course  not.     Ah,    my   dear,    memory,    like    one's   teeth, 
is    a   very    doubtful    blessing.      Far    more    trouble    than 
pleasure  when  you  have  it,  and  yet  a  dreadful  nuisance 
when  you  have  not — But  what's  this  I  hear  about  Adrian  .'' 
Gone  back  to  that  detestable  island  of  his  again  !     I  left 
him  and  Molly  smiling  into  each  other's  eyes,  clasping 
each  other's  hands  like  two  turtle-doves.     Why,  she  could 
not  as  much  as  swallow  a  mouthful  of  soup,  unless  he 
was  beside  her  to  feed  her — And  now  I  am  told  he  has 
not  been  near  her  for  four  days.     What  is  the  meaning  of 
this  ?    Oh,  don't  talk  to  me,  Sophia  !     It's  more  than  flesh 
and  blood  can  bear.      Here  am  I,  having  been  backward 
and  forward  over  nine  hundred  miles,  looking  after  you 
all,  at  my  age,  till  I  don't  know  which  it  is,  Lancashire 
or  Somerset  I'm  in,  or  whether  I'm   on    my  head  or  my 
heels,  though   I'm  sure  I   can   count  every  bone  of  my 
body  by  the   aching  of  them  ; — and   I   did   think  I  was 
coming  back  to   a   little   peace   and   comfort  at   length. 
That  island  of  his,  Sophia,  will  be  the  death  of  me  !     I 
wish  it  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  :  that  is  the  only 
thing  that  will  bring  your  brother  to   his  senses,  I  be- 
lieve.     Now  he  might  as  well  be  in   his  grave  at  once, 


THE  GIBBET  ON  THE  SANDS  427 

like  Rupert,  for  all  the  good  he  is  ;  though,  for  that 
matter  it's  more  harm  than  good  poor  Rupert  ever  did 
while  he  was  alive " 

"  Excuse  me,  Aunt  Rose,"  here  exclaimed  Sophia, 
heroically,  her  corkscrew  ringlets  trembling  with  agitation, 
*'  but  I  must  beg  you  to  refrain  from  such  remarks — I 
cannot  hear  my  dear  brother " 

But  Miss  O'Donoghue  waved  the  interruption  peremp- 
torily away. 

"  Now  it's  no  use  your  going  on,  Sophia.  We  don't 
think  a  man  flies  straight  to  heaven  just  because  he's 
dead.  And  nothing  will  ever  make  me  approve  of  Rupert's 
conduct  in  all  this  dreadful  business.  Of  course  one  must 
not  speak  evil  of  those  who  can't  defend  themselves,  but 
for  all  that  he  is  dead  and  buried,  Rupert  might  argue 
with  me  from  now  till  doomsday,  and  he  never  would 
convince  me  that  it  is  the  part  of  a  gentleman  to  act  like 
a  Bow  Street  runner.  I  hope,  my  dear,  he  has  found 
more  mercy  than  he  gave.  I  hope  so.  But  only  for  him 
my  poor  dear  grand-niece  Molly  would  never  have  gone 
off  on  that  mad  journey,  and  my  poor  grand-niece 
Madeleine  would  not  be  buried  alive  on  that  other  island 
at  the  back  of  God's  speed.  Ah,  yes,  my  dear,  it  has 
been  a  very  sad  time  !  I  declare  I  felt  all  the  while  as  if 
I  were  conducting  a  corpse  to  be  buried  ;  and  now  I  feel 
as  if  I  had  come  back  from  the  dear  girl's  funeral.  We 
had  a  dreadful  passage,  and  she  was  so  sick  that  I'm 
afraid  even  if  she  wanted  to  come  out  of  that  place  again 
she'd  never  have  the  courage  to  face  the  crossing.  She 
was  a  wreck — a  perfect  wreck,  when  she  reached  the 
convent.  Many  a  time  I  thought  she  would  only  land  to 
find  herself  dead.  /  wanted  her  to  come  to  the  hotel  with 
me,  where  I  should  have  popped  her  into  bed  with  a  hot 
bottle  ;  but  nothing  would  serve  her  but  that  she  must  go 
to  the  convent  at  once.  *  I  shall  not  be  able  to  rest  till  I 
am  there,'  she  said.  '  And  it's  precious  little  rest  you  will 
get  there,'  said  I,  '  if  it's  rest  you  want  .'' — What  with  the 
hard  beds,  and  all  the  prayers  you  have  to  say,  and  the 
popping  out  of  bed,  as  soon  as  you  are  asleep,  to  sing  in 
the  middle  of  the  night,  and  those  blessed  little  bells 
going  every  three  minutes  and  a  half.  There  is  no  rest 
in  a  convent,  my  dear.'  But  I  might  as  well  have  talked 
to  the  wall. 


428  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

"  When  I  went  to  see  her  the  next  day,  true  enough, 
she  declared  that  she  was  more  content  already,  and  that 
her  soul  had  found  what  it  yearned  for — peace.  She  was 
quite  calm,  and  sent  you  all  messages  to  say  how  she 
would  pray  for  you  and  for  the  repose  of  the  souls  of  those 
you  loved — Rupert,  your  rector  and  all — that  they  may 
reach  eternal  bliss." 

"  God  forbid  !  "  exclaimed  the  pious  Protestant,  in  hor- 
rified tones. 

"  God  forbid  .-• — You're  a  regular  heathen,  Sophia.  Oh, 
I  know  what  you  mean  quite  well.  But  would  it  not  have 
been  better  for  you  to  have  been  praying  for  that  poor 
fellow  who  never  lived  to  marry  you,  all  these  years, 
than  to  have  been  wasting  your  time  weeping  over  spilt 
milk  ?  Tell  me  /ha/,  miss.  Please  to  remember,  too, 
that  you  could  not  have  come  to  be  the  heretic  you  are, 
if  your  great  grandfather  had  not  been  the  time-server  he 
was.  Any  how,  you  need  not  distress  yourself.  I  don't 
think  Madeleine's  prayers  will  do  any  one  any  harm, 
even  Rupert  ;  though,  honestly,  I  don't  think  they  are 
likely  to  be  of  much  good  in  /ha/  quarter.  However, 
there,  there,  we  won't  discuss  the  subject  any  more.  Poor 
darling  ;  so  I  left  her.  I  declare  I  never  liked  her  so 
much  as  when  I  said  good-bye,  for  I  felt  I'd  never  see  her 
again.  And  the  Reverend  Mother — oh  !  she  is  a  very 
good,  holy  woman — a  Jerningham,  and  thus,  you  know, 
a  connection  of  mine.  She  was  an  heiress  but  chose  the 
cloister.  And  I  saw  the  buckles  sable  on  a  memorial 
window  in  the  chapel  erected  to  another  sister — also  a  nun 
— they  are  a  terribly  pious  family.  I  knew  them  at  once, 
for  they  are  charges  I  also  am  entitled  to  bear,  as  you 
know,  or,  rather,  don't  know,  I  presume  ;  for  you  have 
all  the  haziest  notion  of  what  sort  of  blood  it  is  that  runs 
in  your  veins.  Well,  as  I  said,  she  is  a  holy  woman  1 
She  tried  to  console  me  in  her  pious  way.  Oh,  it  was 
very  beautiful,  of  course  : — bride  of  heaven  and  the  rest 
of  it.  But  I  had  rather  seen  her  the  bride  of  a  nice  young 
man.  Many  is  the  time  I  have  wished  I  had  not  been 
so  hasty  about  that  poor  young  Smith.  I  don't  believe 
he  was  purely  Smith  after  all.  He  must  have  had  some 
good  blood  in  his  veins  !  Oh,  of  course,  of  course,  he 
was  dreadfully  wicked,  I  know  ;  but  he  was  a  fine  fellow, 
and  all  these  complications  would  have  been  avoided. 


THE  GIBBET  ON  THE  SANDS  429 

But,  after  all,  it  was  Rupert's  fault  if  everything  ended  in 

tragedy there,     there,   we  won't    speak    another 

word  about  your  brother  ;  we  must  leave  him  to  the  Lord 
— and,"  added  MissO'Donoghue,  piously  under  her  breath, 
"  if  it's  not  the  devil,  He  is  playing  with  him,  it's  a  poor 
kind  of  justice  up  there  ! — Alas,  my  poor  Sophia,  such  is 
life.  One  only  sees  things  in  their  true  light  when  they're 
gone  into  the  darkness  of  the  past.  And  now  we  must 
make  the  best  of  the  present,  which,  I  regret  to  find, 
seems  disposed  to  be  peculiarly  uncomfortable.  But  I 
have  done  what  I  could,  and  now  I  owe  it  myself  to  wash 
my  hands  of  you  and  look  after  my  own  soul. — I'll  take 
no  more  journeys,  at  any  rate,  except  to  lay  my  bones  at 
Bunratty  ;  if  I  live  to  reach  it  alive." 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE  LIGHT  REKINDLED 

Look  not  upon  the  sky  at  eventide, 

For  that  makes  sorrowful  the  heart  of  man ; 

Look  rather  here  into  my  heart, 

And  joyful  shalt  thou  always  be. 

Luteplayer's  Song. 

It  was  on  the  fifth  day  after  Sir  Adrian's  return  to  his 
island  home.  Outwardly  the  place  was  the  same.  A 
man  had  been  engaged  to  attend  to  the  lighthouse  duties, 
but  he  and  his  wife  lived  apart  in  their  own  corner  of  the 
building  and  never  intruded  into  the  master's  apartments 
or  into  the  turret-room  which  had  been  Captain  Jack's. 

From  the  moment  that  Sir  Adrian,  attended  by  Rene, 
had  re-entered  the  old  rooms,  the  peel  had  resumed  its 
wonted  aspect.  But  the  peace,  the  serenity  which  be- 
longed to  it  for  so  many  years,  had  fled — fled,  it  seemed 
to  Sir  Adrian,  for  ever.  Still  there  was  solitude  and,  in  so 
far,  repose.  It  was  something  to  have  such  a  haven  of 
refuge  for  his  bruised  spirit. 

The  whole  morning  of  this  day  had  been  spent  in 
counting  out  and  securing,  in  separate  lots,  duly  docketted 
and  distinguished,  a  portion  of  that  unwieldy  accumula- 
tion of  wealth,  the  charge  of  which  he  had  accepted, 
against  the  time  when  it  should  be  called  for  and  claimed 
by  its  depositors. 

The  task  was  by  no  means  simple,  and  required  all  his 
attention  ;  but  there  is  a  blessing  even  in  mere  mechani- 
cal labour,  that  soothes  the  torment  of  the  mind.  In  the 
particular  occupation  upon  which  he  had  been  engaged 
there  was,  moreover,  a  hidden  touching  element.  It  was 
work  for  the  helpless  dead,  work  for  that  erring  man  but 
noble  soul  who  had  been  his  loyal  friend.  As  Sir  Adrian 
tied  up  each  bag  of  gold  and  labelled  it  with  the  name  of 
some  unknown  creditor  who  had  trusted  Jack,  dimly  the 

430 


THE  LIGHT  REKINDLED  431 

thought  occurred  that  it  would  stand  material  proof,  call 
for  recognition  that  this  Captain  Smith,  who  had  died  the 
death  of  a  felon,  had  been  a  true  man  even  in  his  own 
chosen  lawless  path. 

On  the  table,  amid  the  papers  and  books,  a  heap  of 
gold  pieces  yet  untold,  remainder  of  his  allotted  day's 
task,  awaited  still  his  ministering  hand.  But  he  was 
tired.  It  was  the  dreamy  hour  of  the  day  when  the 
shadows  grow  long,  the  shafts  of  light  level ;  and  Sir 
Adrian  sat  at  his  open  window,  gazing  at  the  distant  view 
of  Pulwick,  while  his  thoughts  wandered  into  the  future, 
immediate  and  distant.  With  the  self-detachment  of  his 
nature  these  thoughts  all  bore  upon  the  future  of  the 
woman  whom  he  pictured  to  himself  lying  behind  those 
sunlit  windows  yonder,  framed  by  the  verdure  of  leafy 
June,  gathering  slowly  back  her  broken  strength  for  the 
long  life  stretching  before  her. 

Unlike  the  musings  which  in  the  lonely  days  of  old  had 
ever  drifted  irresistibly  towards  the  past  and  gathered 
round  the  image  of  the  dead,  all  the  power  of  his  mind 
was  now  fixed  upon  what  was  to  come,  upon  the  child, 
still  dearer  than  th^  mother,  who  had  all  her  life  to  live. 
What  would  she  do  .-'  What  could  he  do  for  her,  now  that 
she  required  his  helping  hand  no  more  ?  Life  was  full  of 
sorrow  past  and  present ;  and  in  the  future  there  lurked 
no  promise  of  better  things.  The  mind  of  man  is  always 
fain,  even  in  its  darkest  hour,  to  take  flight  into  some 
distant  realm  of  hope.  To  those  whom  life  has  utterly 
betrayed  there  is  always  the  hope  of  approaching  death — 
but  this,  even,  reason  denied  to  him.  He  was  so  strong; 
illness  had  never  taken  hold  of  him  ;  he  came  from  such 
long-lived  stock  !  He  might  almost  outlive  her,  might 
for  ever  stand  as  the  one  ineluctable  check  upon  her 
peace  of  mind.  And  his  melancholy  reflections  came 
circling  back  to  their  first  starting-point — that  barren  rock 
of  misery  in  a  vast  sea  of  despondency — there  was  noth- 
ing to  be  done. 

The  barriers  raised  between  them,  on  his  side  partly  by 
the  poisonous  words  of  his  brother,  partly  by  the  phan- 
tom of  that  old  love  of  which  the  new  had  at  first  been 
but  an  eluding  reflex,  and  on  hers,  by  the  chilly  disillu- 
sion which  had  fallen  so  soon  upon  her  ardent  nature ; 
these  sank  into  insignificance,  contrasted  to  the  whirl  of 


432  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

baulked  passion  which  had  passed  over  her  life,  to  leave 
it  utterly  blasted,  to  turn  her  indifference  to  hate. 

Yes,  that  was  the  burden  of  his  thoughts  :  she  hated  and 
dreaded  him.  His  love,  his  forbearance,  his  chivalrous- 
ness  had  been  in  vain.  All  he  had  now  to  live  upon  was 
the  memory  of  those  few  days  when,  under  the  spell  of 
oblivion  the  beloved  child  had  smiled  on  him  in  the 
unconscious  love  born  of  her  helplessness  and  his  care. 
But  even  this  most  precious  remembrance  of  the  present 
was  now,  like  that  of  the  past,  to  be  obscured  by  its 
abrupt  and  terrible  end. 

Death  had  given  birth  to  the  first  and  last  avowal  of 
love  in  her  who  had  perished  between  his  arms  under 
the  swirling  waters  of  the  Vilaine — but  it  was  Life  itself, 
returning  life  and  health  of  mind,  which  had  changed 
looks  of  trust  and  affection  into  the  chilly  stare  of  dread  m 
the  eyes  of  her  whom  with  all  the  strength  of  his  hoarded 
manhood  he  now  loved  alone.  The  past  for  all  its  sor- 
rows had  held  sweetness  :  the  present,  the  future,  noth- 
ing but  torment.  And  now,  even  the  past,  with  its  love 
and  its  sorrow  was  gone  from  him,  merged  in  the  greater 
love  and  sorrow  of  the  present.  How  long  could  he 
bear  it  ? — Useless  clamour  of  the  soul  !  He  must  bear 
it.     Life  must  be  accepted. 

Sir  Adrian  rose  and,  standing,  paused  a  moment  to 
let  his  sight,  wandering  beyond  the  immense  sands,  seek 
repose  for  a  moment  in  the  blue  haze  marking  the  horizon 
of  the  hills.  The  day  was  pure,  exquisite  in  its  waning 
beauty  ;  the  breeze  as  light  and  soft  as  a  caress.  In  the 
great  stillness  of  the  bay  the  sisters  sea  and  land  talked 
in  gentle  intermittent  murmurs.  Now  and  then  the  cries 
of  circling  sea-fowl  brought  a  note  of  uncanny  joy  into  the 
harmony  that  seemed  like  silence  in  its  unity. 

A  beautiful  harmonious  world  !  But  to  him  the  very 
sense  of  ihe  outer  peace  gave  a  fresh  emphasis  to  the 
discordance  of  his  own  life.  He  brought  his  gaze  from 
afar  and  slowly  turned  to  resume  his  work.  But  even 
as  he  turned  a  black  speck  upon  the  nearer  arm  of  sea 
challenged  his  fleeting  attention.  He  stood  and  watched 
— and,  as  he  watched,  a  sensation,  the  most  poignant 
and  yet  eerie  he  had  ever  known  clutched  him  by  the 
heart. 

A  boat  was  approaching  :  a  small  row-boat  in  which 


THE  LIGHT  REKINDLED  433 

the  oars  were  plyed  by  a  woman.  By  the  multi-coloured, 
glaring  shawl  (poor  Jack's  appreciated  gift)  he  knew  her, 
but  without  attaching  name  or  personality  to  his  recog- 
nition ;  for  all  his  being  was  drawn  to  the  something  that 
lay  huddled,  black  and  motionless,  in  the  stern.  He  felt 
to  the  innermost  fibre  of  him  that  this  something  was 
a  woman  too — this  woman  Molly.  But  the  conviction 
seized  him  with  a  force  that  was  beyond  surprise.  And 
all  the  vital  heat  in  him  fled  to  his  heart,  leaving  him 
deadly  cold. 

As  her  face  grew  out  of  the  distance  towards  him,  a 
minute  white  patch  amid  the  dark  cloud  of  silk  and  lace 
that  enwrapt  it,  it  seemed  as  though  he  had  known  for 
centuries  that  she  was  thus  to  come  to  him.  And  the 
glow  of  his  heart  spread  to  his  brain. 

When  the  boat  was  about  to  land,  he  began,  like  one 
walking  in  his  sleep,  to  move  away  ;  and,  slowly  de- 
scending the  stairs  of  the  keep,  he  advanced  towards  the 
margin  of  the  sea.  He  walked  slowly,  for  the  body  was 
heavy  whilst  the  soul  trembled  within  its  earthly  bounds. 

Molly  had  alighted  and  was  toiling,  with  her  new  born 
and  yet  but  feeble  strength  upon  the  yielding  sand,  sup- 
ported between  Rene  and  Moggie.  She  halted  as  she 
saw  him  approach,  and,  when  he  came  close,  looked  up 
into  his  face.  Her  frail  figure  wavered  and  bent,  and  she 
would  have  fallen  on  her  knees  before  him,  but  that  he 
opened  his  arms  wide  and  caught  her  to  him. 

An  exclamation  rose  to  Moggie's  lips,  to  die  unformed 
under  an  imperious  glance  from  Rene  who,  with  shining 
eyes  and  set  mouth,  had  stood  apart  to  watch  the  mo- 
mentous issue. 

Adrian  felt  his  wife  nestle  to  him  as  he  held  her.  And 
then  the  tide  of  his  long-bound  love  overflowed.  And 
gathering  her  up  in  his  arms  as  if  she  were  a  child,  he 
turned  to  carry  the  broken  woman  with  him  into  the 
shelter,  the  silence  of  the  ruins. 

At  the  foot  of  the  outer  wall,  just  out  of  reach  of  high 
water,  yet  within  reach  of  its  salt  spray,  a  little  mound 
of  red  stony  soil  rose  very  slightly  above  the  green  turf  ; 
at  its  head,  a  small  stone  cross,  roughly  hewn,  was  let 
into  the  masonry  itself.  The  grave  of  Hubert  Cochrane 
was  not  obtrusive  :  in  a  few  months  it  would  have  merged 
again  into  the  greensward,  and  its  humble  memorial 
28 


434  THE  LIGHT  OF  SCARTHEY 

symbol  would  be  covered  with  moss  and  lichen  like  the 
matrix  of  stone  which  encompassed  it. 

Involuntarily  as  he  passed  it,  the  man,  with  his  all  too 
light  burden,  halted.  A  flame  shot  through  him  as  Molly 
turned  her  head  to  gaze  too  :  he  shook  with  a  brief  agony 
of  jealousy — jealousy  of  the  dead!  The  next  instant  he 
felt  her  recoil,  look  up  pleadingly  and  cling  to  him  again, 
and  he  knew  into  the  soul  of  his  soul  that  the  words 
spoken  by  those  loyal  lips — now  clay  beneath  that  clay 
— were  coming  true,  that,  out  of  his  house  laid  desolate 
to  him  was  to  rise  a  new  and  stately  mansion. 

Grasping  her  closer  he  hurried  into  the  sanctuary  of 
the  old  room,  where  he  had  first  seen  her  bright  young 
beauty. 

At  the  door  he  gently  suffered  her  to  stand,  still  sup- 
porting her  with  one  arm  about  her  waist.  As  they  en- 
tered, she  cast  a  rapid  glance  around  :  her  eyes,  bedewed 
with  rising  tears,  fell  upon  the  heap  of  gold  glinting  under 
the  rays  of  the  sinking  sun,  and  she  understood  the  na- 
ture of  the  task  her  coming  had  interrupted.  Her  tears 
gushed  forth  ;  catching  his  hand  between  hers,  and  look- 
ing up  at  him  with  a  strange,  wonderful  humility,  she 
pressed  it  to  her  lips. 

What  need  for  words  between  them,  then  ? 

He  stood  a  little  while  motionless  in  front  of  her,  en- 
tranced yet  still  almost  incredulous,  as  one  suddenly 
freed  from  long  intolerable  pain,  when  there  rose  once 
more,  for  the  last  time,  before  his  mind's  eye  the  ideal 
image  that  had  been  the  companion  of  twenty  years  of 
his  existence.  It  was  vivid  almost  as  life.  He  saw 
C^cile  de  Savenaye  bend  over  her  child  with  grave  and 
tender  look,  then  turn  and  smile  upon  him  with  the  old 
exquisite  sweetness  that  he  had  adored  so  madly  in  that 
far  off  past.  And  then,  it  was  as  if  she  had  merged  into 
Molly.  Behold,  she  was  gone  !  there  was  no  C^cile,  only 
Molly  the  woman  he  loved.  Molly,  whom  now  he 
seized  to  his  heart,  who  smiled  at  him  through  her  tears 
as  he  bent  to  kiss  her  lips. 

Twilight  was  waning  and  the  light  of  Scarthey  beamed 
peacefully  over  the  yellow  sands  ;  and  the  waves  receded, 
dragging  away  sand  and  shingle  from  the  foot  of  the 
hidden  grave. 

THE  END 


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